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THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND 
THE  LADY 


THE    ARCHBISHOP 
AND  THE  LADY 


BY 

Mrs.  Schuyler  Crowninshield 


NEW  YORK 
A.   WESSELS    COMPANY 

1906 


COPTBIGHT,  1900, 
By  McCLTJRE,  PHILLIPS  &  Ca 


TO 

MADAME  JULIETTE  ADAM 
A  SOJOURN  AT  WHOSE  CHARMING  ES- 
TATE SUGGESTED  TO  THE  AUTHOR  THE 
SETTING   FOR  A  PART  OF  HER  STORY 

"The  Anchorage" 

Mt.  Desert  Island,  Maine 

October,  1900 


212501S 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 


I. 


The  heavy  little  train,  witli  its  carriages  modelled 
apparently  after  the  pattern  of  a  cliild's  toy,  rumbled 
slowly  away  from  the  station,  starting  up  a  new  cloud 
of  dust  which  whirled  with  appropriate  laziness.  It 
appeared  to  be  a  sleepy  valley,  this  Val  de  Moncou- 
sis,  and  the  dust  of  the  track  emulated  the  motion  of 
the  train  which  caused  it  to  arise. 

Quentin  had  seen  his  belongings  thrown  upon  the 
asphalted  jilatform,  and  picking  up  his  valise,  he 
turned  toward  the  plastered  station  and  entered.  He 
made  for  the  exit,  gave  up  his  ticket  and  passed 
through  the  further  door.  He  came  upon  a  circle  of 
green  round  which  the  white  road  wound  the  end  of 
its  loop-like  thread.  The  circle  and  accompanjdng 
road  reminded  him  of  a  frying-pan  with  a  long  handle 
stretching  away  down  the  slight  incline.  There  was 
no  carriage  standing  there  as  he  had  expected,  and  to 
his  disgust  no  vehicle  of  any  kind. 

Quentin  turned  to  the  Chef  de  Gare. 

"Is  there  no  carriage  here  from  the  Abbey? " 

"As  M'sieu  sees  there  is  none." 
1 


2       THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  I  telegraphed. " 

The  Chef  de  Gare  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Can  I  get  a  conveyance  ?  " 

The  Chef  de  Gare  repeated  the  encouraging  ges- 
ture. 

"  They  are  all  away,  M'sieu.  It  is  a  fete  day,  as 
probably  M'sieu  knows.  There  is  nothing  to  be  had; 
a  little  later,  perhaps " 

"  Can  you  send  my  things  over  to  the  Abbey  ?  I 
suppose  it  is  not  too  far  for  me  to  walk  ?  " 

Another  shrug.  "  As  I  have  already  said,  M'sieu, 
a  little  later,  if  M'sieu  will  be  satisfied  with  that,  but 
at  the  moment  the  new  rich  lord  has  taken  the  sta- 
tion wagon.  He  came  by  the  last  train.  He  lives 
across  the  valley  some  kilometres  away.  He  tele- 
graphed ! " 

"So  did  I,"  said  Quentin,  his  tone  showing  much 
annoyance. 

"  Is  M'sieu  certain  about  the  date?  Did  not  M'sieu, 
perhaps,  say  to-morrow  ?  " 

Quentin  turned  and  faced  this  new  speaker. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "but  I  wrote  it  yesterday." 

"And  was  not  M'sieu's  message  sent,  perhaps,  this 
morning  ?  " 

Quentin  uttered  an  exclamation  of  chagrin.  It  was 
true.  He  had  written  the  message  on  the  previous 
evening,  as  he  had  crossed  in  the  boat  from  Southamp- 
ton, and  had  handed  it  in  that  very  morning  at  Paris, 
without  remembering  that  the  word  "  to-morrow " 
should  have  been  changed  for  the  word  "  to-day. " 

"And  you  are ?  " 

"The  telegraph  clerk,  M'sieu." 

Quentin  turned  away  with  the  wish  that  he  had 
some  one  to  blame  but  himself. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY       8 

"  I  sent  the  boy  over  witli  tlie  message  a  half  hour 
ago,"  continued  the  man. 

Only  a  half  hour  ago !  Then  naturally  they  had 
not  sent  for  him ;  j^robably  the  boy  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived at  the  Abbey. 

Queutin  stood  and  thought  for  a  moment.  He 
looked  across  the  valley  to  the  wooded  height,  won- 
dering how  soon  the  station  wagon  would  come  rat- 
tling down  the  road.  He  turned  and  gazed  along 
the  track  after  the  baby  train  which  was  rumbling 
slowly  round  a  distant  curve.  The  evening  dew  was 
bringing  out  the  odors  of  the  flowers,  the  sun  had  set 
some  time  since. 

"  Is  it  far  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  again  to  the  clerk. 

"Not  so  far,  M'sieu.  A  matter  of  five  or  six  kilo- 
metres, perhaps." 

"  And  you  will  send  my  traps  over,  then  ?  " 

"So  soon  as  that  lazy  Antoiue  returns,  M'sieu. 
He  should  be  back  by  now.  He  may  overtake  the 
M'sieu  on  the  road." 

The  Chef  de  Gare  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand 
from  habit,  for  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  opposite 
hills,  and  looked  down  along  the  handle  of  the  frying- 
pan.  The  valley  was  now  cold  and  gray.  A  few 
faint  stars  were  beginning  to  stand  out  against  their 
background  of  dark  blue. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  start.     Which  way  then  ?  " 

"  It  is  an  easj^  walk,  M'sieu.  M'sieu  need  not  start 
bj^  the  road."  Quentin  had  taken  a  few  steps  in  the 
direction  of  rounding  the  circle.  "  If  M'sieu  will  re- 
turn through  the  gare,  I  can  show  him  a  shorter  way 
than  t\va,t.  The  carriage  road  runs  back  for  some 
distance,  that  it  may  underrun  the  railwa3\"  They 
entered  the  station,  and  came  out  again  upon  the 


4      THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

platform  where  Quentin  had  alighted.  "  I  will  be  re- 
sponsible " — the  Chef  de  Gare  looked  anxiously  up 
along  the  track  in  the  direction  of  Paris — "for  taking 
M'sieu  across  the  track.  Eh  bien !  now,  down  that 
little  slope;  in  that  way  M'sieu  will  cut  off  a  half 
kilometre,  perhaps.  Just  below  there  is  the  road 
which  M'sieu  must  follow  until  he  comes  to  the 
Abbej^  wall.  A  high  wall  on  the  right,  the  wall  of 
L'Abbaye  de  Bref." 

"  How  shall  I  know  when  I  am  there  ?  You  have 
so  many  walls  in  your  country " 

"  The  M'sieu  cannot  fail  to  know.  It  is  the  only 
wall  of  such  great  height.  It  was  built  to  keep  the 
Religious  in."  The  Chef  de  Gare  smiled.  "It  had 
not  always  that  effect,  as  M'sieu  has  probably  heard, 
though  it  is  so  high.  The  M'sieu  cannot  miss  the 
Abbey.  It  is  only  about  five  kilometres,  at  most,  from 
the  station." 

"I  may  lose  my  way  on  another  road." 

"There  is  no  other  road,  M'sieu.  There  is  just 
room  enough  between  the  wall  on  the  right  and  the 
hill  on  the  left  for  the  road.  M'sieu  must  ring  at  the 
green  door  in  the  wall." 

"All  doors,  like  all  cats,  are  black  at  night,"  said 
Quentin  smiling. 

"I  could  wish  that  it  was  not  so  dark  a  night," 
said  the  Chef  de  Gare,  with  a  thread  of  anxiety  in 
his  tone. 

"  It  is  not  dark,  my  friend. " 

"But  it  soon  will  be,  M'sieu,  long  before  M'sieu 
can  reach  L'Abbaye  de  Bref.  For  me  I  prefer  to 
make  my  visits  there  in  the  day  time."  His  tone 
caused  Quentin  to  look  questiouingly  at  him.  "But 
then  there  are  others  who  are  not  of  my  opinion. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY      5 

Merci  bien!  M'sieu,"  as  he  pocketed  the  liberal  dou- 
ceur, "  the  luggage  of  M'sieu  will  soon  follow  him,  if 
I  can  get  that  stupid  Antoine  to  go  over  the  Abbey 
road  at  night.     Bon  soir,  M'sieu.     The  M'sieu  must 

keep  straight  on  to  the "  but  Quentin  with  long 

quick  strides  had  put  a  non-hearing  distance  between 
himself  and  his  voluble  adviser. 

Quentin  struck  out  at  a  smart  pace,  following  the 
dim  ribbon  of  white,  which  showed  itself  under  the 
twilight.  His  coat  and  shoes  were  covered  with  the 
very  palpable  dust  of  the  country  highway,  but  he 
pushed  sturdily  onward.  The  walk,  notwithstanding 
the  all-pervading  dust,  was  a  relief  to  him.  He  had 
been  sitting  in  the  train  for  some  time,  and  before 
that  had  been  driving  about  Paris  on  various  matters 
of  business,  and  he  thankfully  stretched  his  legs. 

He  met  no  one,  and,  after  walking  a  half  hour  or 
more,  his  road  turned  to  the  left,  and  he  found  that 
he  was  ascending  a  gentle  rise.  At  the  top  of  the 
hill  the  road  once  more  turned  to  the  right,  and  in 
the  dim  distance  he  thought  that  he  saw  the  figure  of 
a  man  or  boy.  "  Probably  the  telegraph  messenger," 
he  said  to  himself. 

As  there  were  no  cross  roads  to  distract  him, 
Quentin  kept  on  as  he  had  been  advised  by  the  Chef 
de  Gare.  The  moon,  which  seemed  to  be  struggling 
to  arise  from  behind  a  barrier  on  the  left,  was  be- 
ginning to  silver  the  treetops  upon  the  crest  of  the 
hills. 

This  must  be  the  wood  of  which  the  Chef  de  Gare 
had  spoken. 

As  Quentin  continued  upon  his  way  there  began  to 
loom  up  upon  his  right  a  dark  object.  It  stretched 
away  across  the  fields  at  right  angles  to  the  wood,  and 


6       THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

lie  felt  sure  that  this  must  be  the  Abbey  wall,  which 
wall,  he  had  heard,  enclosed  the  whole  domain.  A 
further  walk  of  five  minutes  brought  him  to  the  angle 
where  the  wall  began  to  march  and  run  parallel  with 
the  road,  and  then  he  found  himself  within  a  groove, 
its  sides  being  formed  by  the  wall  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  wooded  height  upon  the  other.  Some  cool 
gusts  of  wind  swept  down  the  hill-side  and  brought 
with  them  the  odors  of  a  twilit  wood.  A  few  birds 
chirped  to  each  other  a  late  good-night.  Quentin 
stopped  for  a  moment,  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  this  wall,  which  seemed  to  enclose  and  make  of 
the  place  where  he  was  to  remain  for  the  next  few 
days  a  veritable  fortress.  The  wall  was  apparently 
impregnable.  Its  face  was  flat,  and  though  composed 
of  rough  stones,  it  gave  no  chance  for  hand  or  foot- 
hold. Its  top,  he  found  later,  was  roofed  with  glazed 
tiles.  Foolish  indeed  would  be  the  mortal  who 
should  attempt  to  surmount  it,  unless  he  possessed 
a  ladder  of  unusual  length. 

As  Quentin  paused  to  survey  the  wall  he  became 
conscious  that  he  was  being  surveyed  in  turn  by 
some  scrutinizing  eye.  He  started,  and  peered 
through  the  semi-darkness.  A  faint  glimmer,  creep- 
ing over  the  hill  behind  him  cast  an  eerie  light  upon 
an  object  above  his  head.  It  fell  upon  a  thin  elfish 
face,  from  which  supernaturally  large  eyes  gazed. 

"Is  that  you,  little  Father?"  said  a  child's  high 
voice,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "Valery, 
is  that  you  ?  " 

The  moon  was  clearing  the  treetops  now,  and 
Quentin  found  that  he  was  gazing  upward  upon  the 
face  of  a  child.  It  looked  unearthly  in  the  green 
light  of  the  moon. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY       7 

"  How  did  you  get  up  tliere  ? "  asked  Quentin. 
"It  must  be  at  least  four  or  five  feet  above  my  head." 

"I  am  glad  you  spoke,"  said  a  liigli  little  voice, 
an  awed  voice,  from  which  all  traces  of  fear  had  not 
vanished ;  "  I  thought  you  were  a  Return.  It  is  those 
Eeturns  that  make  me  afraid.  Nothing  else  makes 
me  to  fear." 

"  Return ! "  repeated  Quentin  in  amaze,  which 
showed  in  his  voice,  for  his  face  was  in  shadow. 

"Yes,  yes,  those  Returns,  those  Revenants."  The 
tone  was  impatient.  "  The  nun  of  the  oubliette ;  the 
Abbess  who  imjmsoned  her,  those  poor  little  ones; 
the  grand  Seigneur — Ah !  bah !  why  will  I  speak  that 
French  ?  I  thought  you  might  be  mj^  father.  Then 
I  thought  you  might  be  Father  Halle.  Alixe  has 
gone  up  the  road.  She  told  me  to  wait  for  her  here. 
I  was  not  to  tell  any  one.  You  will  not  tell  of  Alixe. 
Not  to  Mamasha,  neither  to  any  one;  I  love  Alixe." 

"I  will  not  tell,"  said  Quentin,  wondering  whom 
this  unknown  Alixe  might  be  who  went  to  the  wood 
in  this  gloomy  hour,  leaving  a  child  to  keep  watch 
upon  the  wall. 

"I  was  to  tell  her  if  Mamasha  called.  You  will 
not  speak  of  the  Grand  Seigneur,  if  you  should  come 
to  the  Abbey,"  urged  the  child. 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  Grand  Seigneur,  child. 
Tell  me  where  to  find  the  green  door  in  the  wall." 

"I  knew  you  must  be  for  the  Abbaye.  No  one 
comes  this  far  who  is  not  for  the  Abbaye.  I  beg  of 
you  not  to  speak  of  the  Grand  Seigneur,  because  they 
tell  me  that  I  should  not  know  of  him,  and  Alixe 
sends  them  away  if  they  tell  me  about  him.  It  was 
because  of  the  Grand  Seigneur  that  the  Lady  Abbess 
put  the  poor  nun  in  the  oubliette.     Not  Alixe,  but  the 


8       THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

old,  old  Lady  Abbess  who  lived  here  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  years  ago.  The  one  who  lived  behind 
the  iron  doors,  and  counted  her  money,  and  hugged 
it  close  because  of  the  Robber-knights.  When  she 
comes,  Marie  Monrouge  says,  she  always  has  her  bag 
of  offerings  hugged  close  to  her  breast,  that  Abbess. 
I  should  not  like  to  see  that  Lady  Abbess ! " 

"You  poor  little  atom,"  said  Quentin  kindly. 
"They  have  stuffed  you  full  of  nonsense,  haven't 
they?  Get  down  from  that  wall  and  talk  sense. 
Here !  let  me  help  you  down.     Can  you  jump  ?  " 

"I  must  not  go  until  Alixe  comes,"  said  the  child. 
"  Can  you  not  stay  until  Alixe  comes  ?    Do  stay ! " 

Just  here  a  sweet  low  cry  came  softly  upon  the 
evening  air. 

"  Gartha,  Gartha,  where  are  you  ?  " 

Quentin  looked  along  the  road.  Then  he  dimly 
discerned  two  figures  standing  together  under  the 
wall. 

"  Come,  little  one,"  said  he,  "is  that  for  you  ?  " 

As  Quentin  spoke  he  glanced  again  toward  the  fig- 
ures and  saw  that  one  of  them  was  clad  in  black,  the 
other  in  white. 

The  child  disappeared  instantly  from  the  top  of  the 
wall,  her  voice  sounded  indistinctly  from  the  other 
side. 

"Good,  strange  Monsieur,  do  not  stay  late."  He 
heard  the  voice  growing  fainter  as  the  child  got  nearer 
the  earth.  "  Alixe  demands  me  at  the  garden  gate. 
I  must  remove  the  hook." 

Quentin  heard  the  pattering  of  little  feet  on  the 
other  side  of  the  stone  barrier. 

He  stood  still.  He  did  not  wish  to  intrude  upon 
strangers  at  this  unseemly  hour.     His  hostess,  he 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY      9 

knew,  was  not  named  Alixe.  Perhaps  lie  liad  made 
a  mistake  and  had  come  to  the  wrong  house.  Per- 
haps his  whilom  friend  had  gone  away.  She  was 
ever  erratic,  if  kindly ;  never  more  so,  Quentin 
thought,  than  when  she  began  a  correspondence  with 
him  after  a  fortnight's  acquaintance  at  Trouville, 
which  finally  merged  into  a  pressing  request  that  he 
should  pay  her  a  visit  at  the  Abbe3^ 

Quentin  saw  that  the  two  figures  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  road,  evidently  talking  together,  and  that 
when  they  parted  the  white  figure  halted  a  moment, 
then  returned  to  the  other.  He  had  started  forward, 
and  could  not  help  hearing  the  final  sentences  of  this 
mysterious  pair. 

"  Then  j^ou  think  it  safe  for  me  to  come  ?  "  asked 
a  man's  voice. 

The  answer  came  in  the  sweet  low  tone  which  had 
called  "  Gartha,  Gartha,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Safe !  and  wh}^  not  ?  I  am  not  afraid,  why  should 
you  be  ?    No  one  will  know." 

Then  the  white  figure  seemed  to  melt  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wall.  By  the  time  that  it  had  vanished 
Quentin  was  close  upon  the  other.  The  man  was  still 
standing  where  he  had  been  left  alone,  his  head  bent 
upon  his  breast.  Quentin's  footfall  made  no  sound 
in  the  thick  dust  of  the  road. 

"  Alixe !  Alixe ! "  he  heard  in  muttered  tones  that 
were  full  of  despair.  He  saw  that  he  was  trespassing 
upon  forbidden  ground,  and  spoke  at  once  in  a  clear 
voice.  "Good  evening,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "Can 
you  tell  me  the  way  to  the  Abbaye  de  Bref  ?  " 

It  was  the  figure  of  a  priest  which  stood  before 
Quentin.  He  was  dressed  in  the  long  black  frock  of 
his  order.     His  face  Avas  pale,  his  features  working 


10  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

convulsively,  but  he  drew  a  quick  breath  and  pulled 
himself  together  at  the  inquiry. 

"  We  are  near  the  entrance,"  he  replied  coldly.  He 
surveyed  the  distinguished  looking  stranger  critically. 
"  And  what  may  you  wish  with  the  Abbaye  de  Bref  ?  " 

"I  am  a  belated  traveller,"  answered  Quentin. 
"  My  luggage  is  at  the  station.  My  telegram  must 
have  been " 

"  A  visitor  ?     And  to  whom,  pray?  " 

At  the  priest's  abrupt  manner  the  blood  rushed  to 
Quentin's  face,  but  in  a  flash  he  realized  that  this 
man  was  connected  in  some  way  with  those  whom 
he  was  about  to  meet,  to  visit,  and,  controlling  him- 
self, he  replied, 

"  To  the  owner,  Madame  Petrofsky ;  she  is  here,  I 
suppose." 

The  priest  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  To  the  owner !  " 
he  said.  "  Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  I  will  show  you 
the  way." 

Quentin  walked  along  by  his  side  for  about  a  hun- 
dred yards,  neither  of  them  speaking.  He  glanced 
furtively  at  his  guide  as  they  proceeded.  Suddenly 
the  priest  halted.     "  The  door  is  there,"  he  said. 

"I  see  no  door,"  said  Quentin  groping  blindly. 

As  he  spoke  he  was  conscious  of  the  distant  sound 
of  gay  laughter  somewhere  within  the  interior.  The 
priest  started  with  an  exclamation  of  anger.  He  bent 
his  head  as  if  to  listen,  and  then  said,  in  a  voice 
hardly  raised  above  a  whisper,  "  The  light  has  gone 
out." 

Quentin  glanced  upward  and  saw  that  a  lantern, 
whose  wick  was  smoking  from  a  glowing  spark,  hung 
above  the  door. 

" I  will  ring  for  you,"  said  the  priest.     From  habit 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  11 

obviously,  he  reached  his  hand  upward  in  the  dark- 
ness and  found  and  jerked  the  handle  that  hung  there. 
Then  a  loud  metallic  note  pealed  out  on  the  still  air. 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment  and  then  a  distant 
voice  was  heard  and  a  glimmer  of  light  began  to  show 
through  a  now  apparent  crevice.  There  was  a  shuf- 
fling of  feet  and  a  rattling  of  bolts,  and  the  door 
opened  a  little  way. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

Quentin  turned  to  thank  the  priest,  but  he  had  dis- 
appeared. 

"  It  is  I,"  he  answered,  "  Mr.  Quentin.  I  am  come 
upon  a  visit  to  Madame  Petrofsky.     Is  she " 

For  answer  the  servant  opened  the  door  wider, 
threw  back  an  ornamented  grille,  and  Quentin  stepped 
inside  the  doorway. 

He  emerged  upon  a  broad  gravelled  space,  and  so 
stood  while  the  man  closed  both  gate  and  door.  In- 
stead of  being  under  cover  he  was  no  more  so  than 
he  had  been  at  any  time  that  evening.  He  found 
himself  standing  still  beneath  a  moonlit  sky,  beneath 
his  feet  the  fine  gravel  of  the  esplanade.  Upon  his 
left  rose  a  grim  pile  of  stone,  whose  barred  windows 
were  the  more  visible  to  the  eye  because  of  the  many 
lights  within. 

Directly  in  front  of  him,  an  hundred  feet  away, 
perhaps,  and  upon  a  line  with  the  door  by  which  he 
had  entered  the  enclosure,  his  glance  fell  upon  a  vast 
interior.  The  prisms  of  an  immense  hanging  lamp 
were  reflected  in  the  highly  polished  floor.  Quentin 
caught  in  a  flash  the  glitter  of  antique  furniture  and 
bric-a-brac,  excjuisite  draperies,  and  pictures  hanging 
against  a  wonderful  background  of  color;  the  soft 
,  shades  of  heavy  rugs  and  handsome  skins,  the  long 


12  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

broad  vista,  a  bewildering  mass  of  well  chosen  and 
expensive  furnishings.  There  seemed  to  be  no  one 
in  the  great  salon,  but  Quentin  saw  that  it  stood  at 
right  angles  with  the  pile  upon  his  left,  and,  in  fact, 
was  an  immense,  jutting-out  corner  of  that  structure. 
Then,  as  he  waited,  strange  and  alone,  he  was  sud- 
denly conscious  of  lights  in  the  near  distance  upon 
his  right.  Voices  were  intermingled  in  a  gentle  mur- 
mur, not  yet  distinct  to  his  ear;  there  was  a  pleasant 
glow  upon  the  gravel  of  the  terrace,  and  over  all 
broke  the  sweet  shrill  voice  of  Madame,  his  friend, 
Madame,  bidding  him  welcome.  "  You  dear !  "  ex- 
claimed Madame  delightedly,  "  you  dear ! " 

"It  is  always  the  expected  which  happens  here, 
my  friend,"  said  Madame,  as  she  came  forward,  her 
small  dainty  figure  showing  more  prominently  as  she 
approached  from  out  the  middle  distance  of  darkness. 
Her  hands  were  outstretched;  in  one  of  them  she 
held  a  napkin ;  her  skirts  made  a  soft  frou-frou  against 
the  gravel  of  the  terrace. 

"  I  had  just  been  telling  the  Archbishop  that  we 
were  expecting  you.  Was  I  not,  your  Grace  ?  "  This 
in  louder  tones  to  some  one  further  away.  "  I  had 
almost  given  you  up.  Expect  you  for  dinner  ? " 
She  took  Quentin 's  hand  in  hers  as  she  walked  along 
by  his  side.  "  No,  not  particularly,  but  I  am  always 
expecting  some  one,  and  I  was  quite  sure  that  you  had 
made  a  mistake  in  the  telegram,  men  always  do. 
The  messenger  was  just  ahead  of  you.  I  had  just 
sent  to  tell  Barker  to  get  the  landau " 

"I  sent  the  telegram  this  morning,"  said  Quentin, 
as  he  paced  along  the  terrace  by  her  side,  his 
bronzed  face  bent  down  upon  her  upturned  one. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  13 

"  And  you  convict  yourself  out  of  your  own  moutli ! 
but  I  knew  from  your  last  letter  that,  you  had  made  a 
mistake  in  the  date." 

"  So  that  was  the  boy  ahead  of  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  undoubtedly ;  but  I  never  send  messen- 
gers." 

"  What  do  you  do  then  ?  "  asked  Quentin,  smiling 
down  from  his  fine  height  upon  the  pretty,  still 
youthful-looking  widow,  who  looked  up  so  smilingly 
at  him. 

"  Why,  we  just  come.     Don't  we,  Alixe  ?  " 

Quentin  started  and  raised  his  eyes.  A  figure  in 
white  was  approaching  from  the  opposite  end  of  the 
terrace.  The  tall  woman  was  followed  by  a  small 
child.  Quentin  understood  at  once  that  the  two  had 
come  along  inside  the  wall,  while  he  was  walking  in 
the  same  direction  over  the  road,  guided  by  the 
priest;  the  objective  point  of  all  being  the  table  set 
beneath  a  trellissed  roof.  There  were  hanging  lamps 
above  the  table,  whose  light  flickered  with  every 
breath  of  the  soft  night  air,  and  standing  upon  it 
were  other  lamps  Avhich  gave  forth  a  more  steady 
light.  The  table  was  handsomely  set  with  glass  and 
silver,  and  there  were  bouquets  of  flowers  in  the  cen- 
tre space,  and  at  either  end. 

"  Ah !  here  comes  our  Lady  Abbess ! "  It  was  the 
Archbishop  who  spoke,  rising  partly  as  he  did  so, 
"  somewhat  late,  but  ever  welcome. " 

There  were  many  persons  seated  at  the  table,  per- 
haps twenty  in  all,  and  Madame  now  took  the  seat 
which  she  had  just  vacated  to  greet  her  friend. 

"Sit  here  by  me,  Mr.  Quentin.  Mademoiselle, 
will  you  move  down  one  seat  ?  Alixe,  this  is  my 
friend,  Mr.  Quentin ;  His  Grace  the  Archbishop,  Mr. 


14  THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Quentin;  Mademoiselle,  Mr.  Quentin;  Baroness, 
Miss  Thorndyke,  Mr.  Quentin."  Several  other  names 
were  mentioned  at  wliicb  their  owners  bowed  slightly. 

"  And  me ! "     It  was  Gartha  who  spoke. 

Quentin  gave  her  a  flickering  smile,  and  shook  his 
head  in  good  comradeship,  as  if  saying,  "  I  will  not 
tell."     Gartha  nodded  hers. 

"  Alixe,  I  do  wish  that  you  and  Gartha  could  ever 
be  on  time.  Here  his  Grace's  soup  has  been  getting 
cold—" 

"Do  not  mind  me,"  said  the  Archbishop,  with  that 
gentle  tone  which  was  ever  the  first  factor  toward 
making  him  beloved  of  his  friends.  "  I  do  not  care 
for  hot  soup  in  this  weather." 

"You  must  pardon  me,  your  Grace,"  said  Alixe. 
"Gartha  and  I  ramble  sometimes  rather  far  afield." 

Quentin  murmured  something  in  Madame' s  ear 
about  wishing  that  he  could  have  dressed. 

"You  shall  dress  to-morrow,"  said  Madame  with  a 
happy  laugh,  laying  her  hand  on  his  for  a  moment. 
"You  shall  certainly  do  as  you  like  now  that  I  have 
got  you  here.  Why  were  you  never  willing  to  come 
before  ?  "  The  playful  reproach  in  her  tone  made 
Quentin  uncomfortable,  especially  as  he  saw  afar 
down  the  table  a  pair  of  gray  eyes  fixed  scrutinizingly 
upon  him. 

,The  soup,  a  "croute  au  pot,"  was  excellent,  and 
Quentin  ate  as  became  a  traveller.  To  his  surprise  a 
melon  was  handed  after  the  soup. 

As  Quentin  ate  his  melon  he  glanced  occasionally 
at  Alixe,  and  this  is  what  he  saw:  A  woman  tall, 
slim,  high-shouldered,  her  face  pale,  her  lips  a  deli- 
cate pink,  the  upper  one  so  short  as  constantly  to  dis- 
close her  small  white  teeth  set  at  an  angle,  the  masses 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  15 

of  her  light  brown  hair  pushed  over  her  ears  with 
silver  combs  and  falling  in  loops  upon  her  neck. 
Frills  and  falls  of  fluffy  '  lisse  and  lace  drooping 
forward,  and  tumbling  in  jabots  from  her  shoulders 
to  her  waist,  her  long  arms  sometimes  showing  up  to 
the  elbow,  as  they  protruded  from  the  flowing  open 
sleeve,  sometimes  entirely  concealed  amid  the  mass 
of  chiffon,  which  seemed  to  enhance  her  angular 
young  beauty.  Upon  her  head  she  wore  a  sort  of 
white  stuff  hat  such  as  the  Russian  peasants  wear, 
probably  made  of  some  sort  of  angora  silk.  Its  brim 
curled  upward,  through  which  the  light  from  the 
lamp  above  her  head  shone  with  a  glow  which  seemed 
to  form  a  halo.  She  did  not  offer  to  remove  the  hat, 
nor  did  she  apologize  for  her  appearance,  which  was 
quite  at  variance  with  the  conventional  dinner  toilettes 
which  Quentin  saw  all  along  on  both  sides  of  the 
table.  Her  costume  had  the  effect  of  making  him 
feel  more  at  ease  in  his  travelling  suit. 

Quentin  drank  her  in  as  he  raised  his  eyes.  He 
thought  her  the  most  picturesque  figure  by  which  his 
gaze  had  thus  far  been  arrested.  Alixe  gave  him  one 
direct  straightforward  glance  from  her  seat  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  table,  and  helped  Gartha  to  some 
melon. 

"Yes,  he  was  unfrocked,"  said  the  Archbishop, 
evidently  continuing  an  interrupted  conversation. 
"  My  office  forbids  me  to  discuss  the  matter,  but  as 
you  ask  me,  I  must  answer  that  he  has  been  un- 
frocked." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Your  Grace  ?  "  asked 
Mademoiselle,  a  black  little  minim  with  a  gray  mous- 
tache. 

Alixe  glanced  at  her  with  a  shade  of  annoyance 


16  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

flashing  across  her  face.  She  began  to  speak,  thought 
better  of  it,  and  drooped  her  head  to  the  hearing  with 
a  resigned  sigh. 

"  Father  Halle,  Mademoiselle,  him  whom  you  know 
as  Father  Halle,  but  it  is  a  painful  subject,  let  us 
drop  it." 

"  But  Eobert  Halle  was " 

"Little  girls  should  be  neither  seen  nor  heard," 
said  Alixe,  looking  severely  at  the  child  who  had 
spoken.  "Come!  you  had  better  go  to  your  bed." 
She  arose.     "It  is  too  late  for  you  to  be  up." 

"But  when  the  child  has  had  no  dinner,"  called 
Madame  in  her  high  shrill  voice,  "and  when  you 
yourself  kept  her  out,  Alixe,  and  she  misses  her  tea, 
and  then " 

Gartha  had  risen  and  was  standing,  awaiting  the 
final  decision  of  Alixe.  She  looked  at  her  question- 
ingly  submissive,  as  if  desiring  only  to  know  her 
wishes  to  obey. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Alixe  reseating  herself.  "Sit 
down  again,  Gartha,  but  occupy  yourself  with  your 
dinner.  I  will  give  you  ten  minutes,  and  you  see 
there  is  no  time  for  words." 

"There  is  a  pilauf,  Alixe,"  said  Gartha  humbly. 

"Charles,  bring  some  of  the  pilauf  for  Mademoi- 
selle Gartha." 

"I  love  you,  Alixe,"  said  Gartha. 

"Eat  not  so  goulument,  Garta,"  screamed  Made- 
moiselle warningly. 

"Alixe  is  always  just,"  shrilled  Madame.  "Even 
when  the  dear  Duke " 

"  Mamasha,  let  us  leave  the  discussion  of  my  virtues 
for  another  time."  Something  like  a  smile  flitted 
across  the  face  of  the  speaker. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  17 

"I  will  explain  to  you  later,"  murmured  Madame 
in  Quentin's  ear.  "  Alixe  hates  to  be  talked  over,  but 
to-morrow  we  will  go  up  into  tlie  wood  and " 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  wood  and  talk  about  yourself, 
Madame,"  suggested  Quentin,  in  so  low  a  tone  and 
with  so  much  fervour  that  the  Archbishop  directed  a 
scrutinizing  glance  across  the  table  at  him,  and  Ma- 
dame flushed  becomingly. 

Quentin's  ear,  though  trained  to  catch  the  spoken 
French  language  with  little  trouble,  was  constantly  on 
the  alert.  One  never  knew  which  tongue  would  be 
uppermost,  and  sometimes  Lady  Barnes,  a  linguist 
of  repute,  indulged  in  flights  among  the  Italian  and 
Spanish  languages.  Alixe  spoke  Eussian  to  a  servant 
who  waited  at  the  table,  and  madame  occasionally 
brought  a  Russian  word  or  sentence  into  the  conver- 
sation. When  Madame  spoke  it,  it  sounded  to  Quen- 
tin, who  did  not  speak  Russian,  as  if  that  language  were 
being  dragged  in  by  the  heels.  This  astonished  him, 
as  he  had  understood  that  Madame  was  a  Russian. 

Before  the  meal  was  ended,  she,  whom  Quentin 
knew  only  by  the  name  of  Alixe,  arose. 

"Say  good  night,  Gartha,"  said  she,  "and  kiss 
Mamasha's  hand.  Make  your  courtesy  to  His  Grace. 
Come  now !    Off  we  go !  " 

The  child  did  as  she  was  bid ;  then  the  two  bowed 
ceremoniously  to  the  assembled  company,  and  van- 
ished along  the  terrace,  the  child  clinging  close  to  the 
tall  figure,  who  walked  with  her  head  beiit  somewhat 
forward,  thus  concealing  her  real  height. 

"I  do  wish  Alixe  were  a  little  more  conventional," 

sighed  Madame.     In  the  darkness  could  be  heard  the 

sound  of  the  voices  of  the  two,  and  the  skipping  of 

light  feet  across  the  loose  gravel  of  the  terrace,  and 

2 


18  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

the  cries  of,  "Alixe,  where  are  you?"  or  "Gartha, 
where  have  you  gone?"  and  the  answering  cry  of 
"Here  I  am;  come  and  find  me." 

There  was  merrj'^  laughter,  low  and  soft  from  the 
one,  and  a  child's  glad  cry  from  the  other,  and  finally 
a  far  door  down  along  the  terrace  opened  for  a  mo- 
ment, emitting  a  broad  gleam  of  light,  and  then  was 
closed,  shutting  awaj^  the  sound  of  the  voices,  and  the 
sight  of  these  incongruous  playmates. 

"Owze  Duchess  spoils  Garta,"  remarked  a  lady 
w^hom  they  addressed  as  Baroness. 

The  Duchess !    Who  was  the  Duchess? 

"  Coffee  in  the  salon,  Charles,"  said  Madame  as  she 
arose.  She  turned  toward  the  prelate.  "  And  must 
you  leave  us  to-morrow.  Tour  Grace?  " 

"Without  doubt,  dear  Madame.  I  must  take  a 
morning  train  back  to  Paris.  It  was  difiicult  for  me 
to  get  away  even  for  a  day."  And  then,  in  a  lower 
tone,  "I  had  heard  of  Halle's  being  seen  about  here, 
and  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  warn  you,  not  only  as  an  old 
friend,  but  as  a  priest  of  the  church,  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him." 

"  But  Robert  has  always " 

"  You  must  not  condone  his  behavior,  Madame,  be- 
cause he  is  a  friend;  you — a  devoted  daughter  of  the 
church." 

Quentin  thought  of  the  black  figure  which  he  had 
seen  at  the  gate.  Had  he  unearthed  a  mystery  so 
soon?  Was  this  Father  Halle,  the  unfrocked  priest? 
Could  he  be  loitering  here  to  do  some  injury  to  this 
benign  looking  old  man?  Was  it  his,  Quentin's,  duty 
to  inform  his  Grace  that  a  priest  lurked  without  the 
wall?  Should  he  so  early  in  his  visit  volunteer  un- 
pleasant information  of  which  he  only  was  possessed? 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  19 

Had  the  Archbishop  been  departing  at  once  Quentin 
might  have  felt  bound  to  declare  what  he  had  seen, 
but  his  Grace  had  said  "to-morrow,"  there  could  be 
little  danger  in  the  light  of  day ;  and  then,  there  was 
Alixe.  Quentin  knew  of  no  other  name  by  which  to 
call  her,  in  his  thoughts.  A  feeling  of  loyalty  toward 
her  sprang  up  within  his  breast,  a  feeling  which  lie 
quenched  at  once  as  absurd.  She  would  hardly  be 
grateful  to  him  for  his  loyalty.  She  had  vouchsafed 
him  not  a  word.  She  had  given  him  simply  a  cold 
bow  of  welcome  and  as  cold  a  good  night. 

Coffee  was  served  in  the  grand  salon  of  the  chateau. 
It  was  a  walk  of  about  two  hundred  feet  from  the  trel- 
lissed  arbour  where  they  had  dined  to  the  great  door 
of  the  main  house.  They  all  trooped,  in  well-bred 
disorder,  into  the  great  salon,  of  which  Quentin  had 
caught  a  glimpse  upon  his  arrival.  There  were  many 
persons  in  the  room ;  black  coated  men  and  charm- 
ingly costumed  women.  Quentin  felt  himself  too  trav- 
el-stained to  remain  with  that  brilliant  company .  The 
ringing  of  the  bell  at  the  gate  gave  him  an  excuse  to 
rise.  As  he  hoped,  it  proved  to  be  the  tardy  Autoine 
with  his  belongings,  and  he  followed  Madame  out  on 
to  the  terrace  as  the  door  was  opened. 

"  Is  that  all  you  brought?  "  asked  Madame  in  a  dis- 
appointed tone,  with  her  pretty  Russian  accent  and 
childish  lisp.  "  Take  Monsieur's  things  to  the  chalet, 
Eugene.  I  will  go  with  you  and  show  you  your  quar- 
ters. No,  no!  It  is  a  pleasure.  It's  a  queer  old 
place.  Have  you  any  nerves,  Mr.  Quentin?  I  hope 
not.  Bruno's  rooms  are  there  also.  Bruno  is  an  en- 
thusiastic inventor.  He  goes  away  to  get  ideas  and 
buy  chemicals.  Sometimes  I  wish  he  were  not  quite 
8o  enthusiastic." 


20  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Bruno?  "  said  Quentin  interrogativelj. 

"  Yes,  my  nephew,  Count  St.  Aubin.  He  may  pos- 
sibly arrive  before  you  leave  us.  We  never  know — 
hold  the  light,  Pierre  Monrouge.  Come  this  way, 
my  friend.  " 

They  were  out  of  doors  with  only  the  sky,  moon 
and  stars  above  them.  It  was  a  perfect  night.  The 
air  came  softly  to  caress  the  cheek,  filled  with  the 
breath  of  the  cinnamon  pinks  and  the  midsummer 
roses.  Quentin  paced  along  the  terrace  by  the  side 
of  Madame.  They  passed  the  deserted  table,  where 
the  swinging  and  standing  lamps  lighted  up  the  dis- 
ordered remains  of  the  feast.  The  table  was  set 
within  a  sort  of  alcove,  a  wall,  the  outer  wall  of  the 
enclosure,  making  the  inner  boundary  of  the  recess. 
The  other  three  sides  were  open,  except  for  the  pillars 
of  stone  which  upheld  the  roof,  and  showed  their  an- 
cient roughness  between  the  masses  of  greenery  with 
which  the  vines  had  draped  them. 

"  The  chalet  looks  like  an  entresol  on  stilts,  doesn't 
it?  "  laughed  Madame. 

A  few  steps  further  on  they  stopped  at  the  entrance 
to  a  stairway,  down  which  some  beams  of  light  flick- 
ered. There  seemed  to  be  a  struggle  going  on  to  get 
Quentin' s  belongings  up  the  stairs,  and  he  turned  his 
back  until  it  should  be  over. 

"You  feel  just  as  I  do,"  said  Madame,  as  she  also 
turned  away.  "  When  they  are  bringing  a  rented 
piano  into  my  apartment  in  town,  I  go  out  for  the 
day.  When  I  return,  there  stands  the  piano.  Magic 
has  been  at  work.  I  have  simply  waved  my  wand. 
I  do  not  care  to  see  the  men  perspire  and  hear  them 
groan,  and  perhaps  give  vent  to  an  occasional  curse, 
which  I  know  is  intended  for  me.     My  servants  may 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  A^D  THE  LADY     21 

bear  that.  That  is  what  I  pay  them  for."  She 
walked  out  to  the  edge  of  the  broad  terrace ;  Quentin 
followed.  She  stood  there,  her  youthful  back  turned 
toward  her  guest,  looking  up  the  long  valley  in  the 
direction  of  Paris.  Nearer,  the  greenish  light  was 
flooding  the  plateau  below  the  terrace,  and  silvering 
the  ragged  edges  of  the  Abbey,  which  Quentin  seemed 
now  to  have  noticed  for  the  first  time.  It  stood  per- 
haps three  hundred  feet  or  so  beyond  the  terrace,  and 
made  an  exquisite  picture  in  the  uncertain  rays  of 
light.  The  great  rose-blooms  were  nodding  in  the 
evening  breeze  and  sending  forth  languorous  odors  as 
they  moved. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  were  living  in  a  dream,"  said  Quen- 
tin. "  Do  assure  me  that  I  shall  not  awake  presently, 
at  some  fashionable  watering  place,  or  in  a  great 
stuffy  room  of  a  Paris  hotel." 

"  It  is  a  dream  from  which  you  need  not  awake,  my 
friend,"  said  Madame  in  her  softest  voice.  "But you 
have  seen  ruins  before.  You  have  seen  Kenilworth 
and  Chatsworth  and  fifty  others " 

"  Yes,  yes !  As  a  tourist,  a  sightseer,  but  to  live  in 
a  place  like  this,  full  of  mystery,  full  of  romance,  to 
feel  that  it  is  mine  for  the  moment,  to  look  forward 
to  days  of  exploration  and  nights  of  cold  chills  " — 
Quentin  broke  off  with  a  contented  shiver  of  delight. 
"  You  once  asked  me,  Madame,  what  you  might  give 
me.  You  could  give  me  nothing  better  than  this; 
some  days  spent  with  you  at  I'Abbaye  de  Bref." 

Madame  turned  toward  him  and  laid  her  small 
hands  upon  his  arm.  She  pressed  it  fondly.  "  You 
dear ! "  she  said. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  succession  of  thumps 
within  the  chalet.     Light  was  now  streaming  out  of 


22  THE  ABCHBI8H0P  AND  THE  LADY 

three  or  four  windows,  and  in  a  moment  they  heard 
feet  descending  the  stairway.  Then  a  ray  of  light 
crept  wobblingly  along  the  ground.  Suddenly  it 
spread  into  a  star,  as  Antoine,  a  Rembrandt  picture 
in  illumination  as  well  as  ugliness,  emerged  from  the 
doorway. 

"Now,  come,  I  will  show  you,"  said  Madame,  start- 
ing forward.  "  No,  no ! "  as  Quentin  tried  to  put 
something  into  Antoine 's  hand.  "  Don't  spoil  the  sim- 
ple peasant.  We  pay  them  by  the  year  over  there  at 
the  station.  Bon  soir!  Antoine.  Follow  me,  my 
friend,"  and  Madame  disappeared  within  the  open 
doorway. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  door ;  simply  an  archway  of 
stone  through  which  Quentin  followed  his  guide.  The 
stairs  were  of  brick,  the  front  of  the  treads  of  wood 
worn  and  hollow  in  places.  The  flight  curved  gently 
at  the  bottom,  then  ran  straight  and  ended  upon  a 
landing  also  of  brick.  The  two  pairs  of  feet  made  a 
strange  shuffling  noise,  as  their  owners  proceeded. 
When  they  came  out  upon  the  landing,  Quentin  saw 
that  an  ancient  looking  lantern  hung  above  his  head 
and  gave  out  a  feeble  light.  Upon  the  right  of  the 
landing  was  an  open  door,  and  he  saw  that  there  was 
also  a  door  upon  the  left.     This  door  was  closed. 

"  Those  are  Bruno's  rooms,"  said  Madame,  pointing 
to  the  closed  door,  "and  these  are  yours."  She 
turned  toward  the  open  door  and  ushered  Quentin 
into  a  charming  chamber. 

The  room  was  well  lighted  with  candles.  It  was 
in  shape  a  rectangle.  There  were  windows  on  either 
side,  and  at  the  further  end  a  door  was  open.  A  light 
shone  from  within. 

"  This  is  your  dressing  room, "  said  Madame,  passing 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LAD.:     23 

through  the  first  to  the  second  chamber,  "  and  liere 
beyond  again  is  another  little  place  for  j'our  boxes, 
when  Marie  Monrouge  has  emptied  them  to-morrow." 

Quentin  jt)und  that  he  was  in  possession  of  two 
charming  rooms,  as  well  as  a  large  closet,  or,  rather, 
a  third  room,  in  which  were  frames  for  coats,  stands 
for  trunks  and  boxes,  a  bath  ready  for  the  night,  with 
cans  of  water  standing  by,  and  everything  which  was 
calculated  to  add  to  his  comfort.  This  third  room 
was  not  furnishec.  The  floor  was  bare  of  carpet,  ex- 
cept for  the  batli  rug,  which  was  in  its  place  by  the 
hat-bath. 

The  candle  which  Madame  held  flickered  almost  as 
if  some  one  were  blowing  upon  the  flame.  Quentin 
felt  a  cold  blast  of  air  on  his  neck,  his  cheek.  He 
looked  inquiriigly  toward  the  black  opening  from 
which  the  draught  of  air  seemed  to  come. 

Madame  laughed  tremulously. 

"  That  was  ?  doorway.  You  can  see  where  the  nar- 
row little  dooi  has  been  removed  from  its  hinges,  ages 
ago  perhaps.  No  one  knows  the  date  of  anything  in 
these  old  buidings,  or  when  anything  happened  here. 
Things  were  iway s  happening,  I  fancy.  Don't  go  too 
near,  my  frind,"  as  Quentin  moved  towards  the  top 
stisp,  "  Th'Se  stairs  are  steep,  and  I  sliall  not  want 
you  laid  ip  with  a  sprained  ankle.  There  are  too 
many  lovey  walks  about  this  old  place ;  and  now  that 
I  have  go  you  here  at  last,  you  must  see  everything 
there  is  t*  be  seen — see  it  all  with  me." 

Quentn  stood  peering  down  the  stairway.  He 
might  J-s  well  have  looked  into  a  pocket.  There 
seeme^  to  be  nothing  below  there  but  the  blackness 
of  dnkness. 

"  yhere  does  it  lead  to?  "  he  asked. 


24     ^HE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  To  an  old  disused  door  in  the  outer  wall.  Did 
you  notice  how  broad  and  thick  these  walls  are?  No? 
You  could  hardly  have  had  an  opportunity  yet  except 
as  you  entered  the  place.  You  mnst  see  it  to-morrow. 
Just  here,  I  fancy,  the  wall  is  but  a  shell,  and  the  pas- 
sageway is  left  between  the  outer  and  the  inner  shell." 

"  That  would  be  an  easy  way  to  storm  your  fortress, " 
said  Quentin,  laughing.  "The  vulnerable  point  in 
your  armor." 

"  The  door  is  old,  but  the  iron  is  thick.  The  bolts 
are  strong,  and  the  key  we  keep  in  the  chateau. 
Alixe  takes  charge  of  it.  The  do^r  is  probably 
stronger  than  the  wall  itself.  Besices,  who  should 
want  to  storm  our  fortress?"  Madame  laughed. 
"So  far  as  I  know  we  are  at  peace  with  the  world." 

"  That  is  the  third  door  of  which  t  already  know 
in  your  impregnable  outer  wall,"  saic^  Quentin,  jok- 
ingly. 

"  Ah !  "  Madame  returned.  "  The  Al^bey  has  great 
possibilities.  It  is  a  place  with  a  past.  At  one  time, 
in  the  fifteenth  century,  I  think  Alixe  s^d,  it  lapsed 
into  simply  a  social  and  secular  house.  yVU  religious 
vows  were  abrogated,  if  not  formally,  th^  by  simply 
letting  them  fall  into  disuse.  That  was  \  generation 
of  romance,  such  as  nowadays  we  neve]\  dream  of. 
There  were  love  scenes,  and  flights,  and  pi^ishments, 
and — but  come !  I  must  not  keep  you  stalling  here. 
You  must  be  tired  to  death  !  " 

Madame  set  the  candle  down  upon  a  little  (Wl  table, 
and  returned  to  the  dressing  room  and  so  thlnugh  to 
the  larger  sleeping  chamber.  \ 

"  I  see  that  Marie  Monrouge  has  made  bo\^  the 
beds,"  said  she,  glancing  into  the  dressing  i^om. 
"  You  can  take  your  choice."  \ 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  25 

"I  shall  not  want  to  go  away  at  all,"  said  Quentin, 
"after  such  an  embarrassment  of  luxury.  Four 
windows !  "  he  added.     "  I  shall  not  want  for  air." 

"  Two  of  them  look  upon  the  road,"  explained  Ma- 
dame. "  The  chalet  is  built,  as  you  will  see  to-mor- 
row, into  the  wall,  welded  into  it,  in  fact,  just  as  the 
chateau  is  built  into  it  further  along.  Between  the 
two  and  connecting  them  runs  the  simple  wall  of  the 
domain  for,  perhaps,  two  hundred  feet.  The  windows 
on  the  road  we  keep  closed,  though  there  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  have  them  open  if  you  wish. 
But  those  on  the  terrace  we  always  leave  open.  You 
will  find  no  mosquitoes,  my  American  friend,  to  dis- 
turb your  night's  rest,  and  now,  good  night!  " 

She  turned  to  Quentin  and  held  out  both  her  hands. 

He  stretched  out  his  own,  and  clasped  them.  How 
soft  and  small  they  were !  How  young  she  looked  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  lamp !  Hardly  more  than  thirty 
years  of  age. 

"May  you  be  so  content  with  me — with  us,"  she 
said,  "  that  you  will  not  care  to  leave  the  Abbey  soon. 
Happy,  happy  dreams ! "  She  had  held  Quentin's 
hands  all  the  time  that  she  was  speaking. 

"Good  night,  Mamasha,"  he  laughingly  returned. 
He  shook  her  hands  up  and  down  in  an  embarrassed 
sort  of  way.     "  Good  night,  Mamasha,  good  night !  " 

She  withdrew  hers  quickly. 

"You  heard  my  niece  call  me  that,"  she  said. 
"  They  all  do  it.  You  would  think  I  were  the  mother 
of  the  whole  human  race." 

"Not  when  I  look  at  you,"  replied  Quentin  gal- 
lantly. 

"  You  dear !     Bruno  calls  me  so,  and  Gartha " 


26     THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"The  little  girl  is  a  relative,  then?  " 

"  She  is  the  child  of  a  sister  of  Alixe.  Alixe  is 
wrapped  up  in  her.  But  come !  No  more  to-night. 
Sleep  well,  arise  when  it  pleases  you,  ring  your  bell 
for  coffee,  or  come  down  to  the  arbour;  above  all, 
while  you  remain  among  us  feel  as  if  I'Abbaj^e  de 
Bref  were  your  home."  Her  sweet  high  voice  rang 
the  final  words  back  at  him,  as  she  tick-tacked  down 
the  stair. 

Quentin  properly  reproached  himself  for  the  evan- 
escent thought  that  Madame's  good  night  had  been 
somewhat  more  fervid  than  the  occasion  warranted, 
and,  experiencing  a  feeling  of  annoyance  with  him- 
self, he  proceeded  to  examine  his  quarters. 

The  floor  was  laid  with  octagon  tiles  of  deep  red, 
dull  and  mellow  in  tone.  The  windows  were  hung 
with  curtains,  fresh  and  neat,  but  whose  creamy  tinge 
confessed,  perforce,  to  the  flight  of  time  since  they 
were  young.  Upon  them  was  a  design  of  deep  red, 
where  shepherdesses  and  shepherds,  with  sheep  to 
play  propriety,  disported  themselves  in  the  fields,  and 
where  carter  lads  and  horses  struggled  with  mountains 
of  hay  and  carts  much  larger  than  themselves.  The 
curtains  were  edged  with  a  quaint  red  fringe  and 
looped  back  with  plain  red  bands.  The  wood  work 
of  the  room  was  white.  The  walls  were  hung  with  a 
pale  green  stuff,  against  which  he  discovered  some 
ancient  prints  at  such  a  height  that  their  little  impro- 
prieties could  not  become  large  factors  in  the  corrupt- 
ing of  those  who  tried  from  their  distant  stand  upon 
the  floor  to  decipher  their  meaning.  Under  foot  were 
soft  rugs,  which  caught  in  the  heels  of  Quentin's 
shoes,  and  which  he  was  constantly  laying  in  place 
again.     The  bed,  a  high  French  bed,  with  its  duvet 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  27 

and  mountain  of  little  pillows,  tickled  his  fancy,  and 
he  chuckled  aloud  as  he  wondered  how  he  was  going 
to  sleep  among  such  smothering  comforts.  The  great 
dressing  table  was  covered  with  the  same  material  as 
that  which  draped  the  windows,  and  had  Quentin  pos- 
sessed a  woman's  curiosity  or  domestic  knowledge, 
he  would  have  examined  to  find  it  but  a  simple  con- 
struction of  deal,  made  beautiful  and  useful  by  eco- 
nomical taste. 

Quentin  cast  a  glance  toward  the  little  dressing 
room,  then  he  advanced  slowly  across  its  threshold. 
The  flickering  of  the  candle  in  the  further  room  re- 
minded him  that  it  was  still  alight  on  the  table  where 
Madame  had  left  it,  and  he  entered  the  closet  to  extin- 
guish it.  The  room  had  a  lonely  air ;  and  as  before  the 
draught  which  came  from  the  narrow  staircase  waved 
the  flame  to  and  fro.  Quentin  took  the  candle  in  his 
hand  and  leaned  far  over  the  opening,  but  again  he 
could  perceive  nothing.  With  quick  determination 
he  retreated,  and  passing  through  the  middle  room 
into  his  bed-chamber,  he  closed  and  bolted  the  door. 

"It  is  foolish  to  sleep  in  a  draught,"  he  said  to 
himself,  thus  excusing  a  slight  feeling  to  which  he 
scarcely  confessed,  and,  if  he  did  acknowledge  it  ever 
so  faintly,  of  which  he  was  at  the  same  moment 
ashamed.  Remembering  the  neglected  bath  prepared 
for  him,  but  too  tired  to  more  than  reproach  himself, 
he  undressed  hastily,  and,  climbing  into  the  high  bed, 
stretched  his  form  along  the  cool  and  grateful  linen. 

Quentin  had  thought  that  sleep  would  have  met  him 
half-way,  but  although  the  perfect  stillness  of  the 
night  was  broken  by  no  disturbing  sound,  his  new 
and  strange  surroundings,  i:)receded  by  his  somewhat 
adventurous  arrival  amid  a  houseful  of  people,  but 


28  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

one  of  whom  lie  liad  ever  met  before,  kept  him 
awake.  He  thought  as  he  lay  there,  in  a  state  of 
pleasurable  languor,  that  he  heard  the  distant  sounds 
of  music,  and  once  the  notes  of  a  voice  rose  upon  the 
air,  but  it  was  faint,  and  listen  as  he  would  he  could 
catch  no  consecutive  sounds.  He  had  never  been  in 
a  place  before  the  silence  of  which  so  impressed  him. 
It  pervaded  all  things.  If  he  but  moved  in  his  bed, 
it  seemed  as  if  they  must  hear  the  sound  in  the  chateau. 
Suddenly,  voices  somewhere  near  him  brought  him 
back  from  the  borderland  of  dreams.  He  listened, 
than  sat  up  in  bed,  then  slid  down  from  the  slippery 
mountain  to  the  floor,  and  api^roached  the  window. 
The  voices  came  from  two  persons  who  were  seated 
beneath  the  great  tree,  whose  branches  a  little  further 
on  spread  in  shade  across  the  gravel  of  the  terrace. 
The  voices  were  those  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  but 
their  words  were  indistinct.  Some  one  was  smoking, 
for  Quentin  saw  the  red  spark  of  a  cigar  beneath  the 
tree,  and  after  a  few  moments  the  aroma  of  a  very 
good  Havana  came  drifting  to  his  nostrils.  He  had 
no  wish  to  know  who  these  people  were.  He  felt  no 
curiosity  at  all  in  the  matter.  He  leaned  lazily  out 
of  the  window,  taking  them  in  as  part  of  the  general 
interest  of  his  surroundings.  He  gazed  across  his 
narrow  little  balcony  at  the  ruined  Abbey,  at  the  far 
fields,  and  further  hillsides ;  at  the  near  flower  garden, 
at  the  nearer  terrace,  and  again  glanced  down  at  the 
two  figures  showing  faintly  through  the  low  sweeping 
branches.  He  sniffed  the  fragrance  again  of  the  good 
cigar,  and  wished  that  he  had  not  hurried  off  so  soon 
to  bed  only  to  find  that  he  could  not  sleep. 

As  he  continued  lazily  to  regard  them,  the  two  per- 
sons arose  and  came  out  from  under  the  obscuring 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  29 

shade  of  the  tree,  and  now  Quentin  saw  that  they 
were  his  friend,  Madame,  and  her  guest,  the  Arch- 
bishop. Madame  was  talking  volubly,  while  the 
Archbishop  puffed  slowly,  listening  courteously,  un- 
til she  had  finished.  The  two  began  to  pace  the  ter- 
race side  by  side.  Madame  turned  occasionally  to 
lay  her  hand  upon  the  Archbishop's  arm.  Finally 
as,  extending  their  walk  a  few  feet,  they  came  near 
Quentin's  balcony,  the  words  of  the  Archbishop  were 
brought  distinctly  to  his  ear. 

"I  warn  you  as  a  daughter  of  the  church  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him,  either  now  or  at  any  other 
time.     I  assure  you  that  you  will  regret  it  if  you  do." 

"  But  if  Alixe  persists — • — " 

Quentin  shrank  behind  the  vines,  for  they  had 
reached  the  jjoint  opposite  his  darkened  window. 
They  i)assed  on  toward  the  end  of  the  terrace,  Ma- 
dame still  arguing,  the  Archbishop  listening  as  he 
puffed  his  cigar.  Quentin  did  not  wait  to  see  them 
return ;  he  had  no  fancy  for  the  role  of  eavesdropper, 
and  again  mounting  to  his  mattress,  he  was  soon 
asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not.  He  was  awakened 
by  a  sound.  What  it  had  been  he  could  not  deter- 
mine. He  sat  up  in  his  bed  and  listened.  The  quiet 
was  as  the  silence  in  the  chamber  of  death.  He 
glanced  toward  his  window.  The  moon  had  set  and 
the  early  day  was  breaking.  He  tried  to  sleep  again, 
but  he  and  sleep  had  parted  company,  for  that  night 
at  least,  and  he  arose  and  going  to  the  window  thrust 
his  head  from  the  framed  opening.  The  fresh  sweet 
scents  of  the  early  morning  filled  his  nostrils.  The 
gravel  of  the  terrace  was  wet,  as  if  watered  by  human 
hands.     There,  far  away  across  the  outlying  hills,  he 


30     THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

saw.  tlie  first  pale  tinge  of  the  early  sun,  thrown  over 
from  above  the  sharp  rise  at  the  back  of  the  chalet. 
A  lone  bird  chirped  faintly.  Quentin  leaned  further 
out  of  the  window  and  lost  himself  in  a  wondering 
reverie. 

Why  had  he  been  led  to  this  place?  It  was  thus 
far  mysterious  and  vague;  delightful,  certainly,  but 
what  had  it  to  do  with  him?  Why  had  he  come  here 
with  no  more  knowledge  of  his  hostess  than  that 
gained  in  a  fortnight's  semi-flirtation  at  a  French 
watering  place.  He  had  never  thought  to  ask  of  her 
belongings,  they  did  not  interest  him,  and  she  had 
not  volunteered  any  information.  He  considered  it 
but  the  pleasure  of  a  passing  hour,  his  acquaintance 
with  Madame,  Had  she  not  written,  pressing  him 
to  visit  her  at  I'Abbaye  de  Bref,  he  would  have  gone 
to  his  home  and  forgotten  all  but  the  kindness  that 
had  made  his  stay  at  the  seaside  more  than  pleasant. 
Madame  had  spoken  vaguely  of  "the  General,"  and 
"the  Count,"  and  "the  dear  dead  Duke,"  but  then 
Quentin' s  environment  had  brought  him  into  ac- 
quaintance with  so  many  Generals  and  Counts,  if  not 
dear  dead  Dukes,  and  of  the  three  he  was  not  quite 
certain  whether  the  first  two  were  alive  or  not.  Here 
was  he,  a  guest  in  a  house  of  whose  inmates  he  knew 
nothing.  He  knew  that  he  had  discovered  on  the  top 
of  a  high  wall  an  elfish  child  named  Gartha — a  child 
who  hated  the  French  and  was  afraid  of  Eevenants. 
He  knew  that  he  had  seen  a  certain  dark  little  lady 
who  was  short  and  stout,  who  wore  a  moustache  which 
almost  rivalled  his  own,  and  who  shot  a  fine  spray  over 
his  shirt  bosom  as  she  talked  to  him.  He  had  sat  for  a 
time  at  a  table  with  an  Archbishop,  who  had  remarked 
decidedly  that  some  one  had  been  unfrocked,  a  some 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  31 

one  in  whom  lie  took  little  interest.  It  was  nothing 
to  him  if  all  the  priests  in  France  should  be  unfrocked. 
Probably  there  was  as  much  blame  on  the  one  side  as 
on  the  other.  He  had  met  a  number  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  guests  of  the  house,  none  of  whose  names 
he  remembered,  even  if  they  had  been  mentioned. 
He  had  heard  of  a  certain  Bruno,  who  lived  across 
the  landing  in  those  other  rooms,  presumably  the 
counterpart  of  his  own,  but  who  was  not  an  inmate  of 
the  Abbey  at  present.  Above  all  he  had  seen  a  charm- 
ing young  creature  whom  they  called  Alixe.  Gartha 
had  exclaimed,  "  Oh !  I  love  Alixe ! "  Here  Quentin 
stood  straight,  awakened  wide  from  his  reverie. 
There  was  no  more  sleep  for  him.  He  walked  across 
toward  the  door  of  his  dressing  room.  He  would 
take  the  bath  neglected  the  night  before,  then. go  for 
a  mountain  scramble,  and  be  ready  for  the  strange 
new  day  that  awaited  him.  Then  there  was  that  black 
robed  figure,  who  had  guided  him  to  the  gate,  and 
had  rung  the  bell.  He  remembered  his  face,  dark, 
sallow.  As  these  thoughts  coursed  through  his  brain 
he  had  drawn  back  the  bolt  of  the  dressing  room  door, 
and  had  opened  it, — was  this  priest  a  man  to  fear? 
Or  a  man  to — Quentin's  glance  crossed  the  bed. 
There  lay  the  man  of  whom  he  had  been  thinking. 
His  tonsured  head  was  thrown  back  upon  the  pillow ; 
his  face  was  thin  and  lantern-jawed,  but  with  a  cer- 
tain beauty  of  its  own ;  the  eyes  were  covered  with 
lids  which  seemed  to  sink  deep  into  the  hollows  of 
their  sockets.  The  abandonment  of  the  figure  showed 
that  the  man  was  lost  in  a  deep  sleep.  A  thin  hand 
lay  outside  the  cover.  Upon  a  chair  was  thrown  a 
black  robe,  and  upon  the  floor  lay  the  sandals  of  a 
priest. 


32  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

The  man  seemed  to  be  about  twenty-eight  or  thirty. 
He  had  a  careworn  look  which  Quentin  felt  made  him 
seem  older  than  his  years.  As  Quentin  backed  softly, 
the  priest  moved  in  his  sleep.  He  muttered  some 
broken  sentences.  "No,  no!  Bruno,"  he  said,  "do 
not  ask  me.     I  cannot  do  it,  even  for " 

Quentin  went  out  and  softly  closed  the  door. 


n. 


It  was  not  more  than  five  o'clock  when  Quentin  de- 
scendeclr  the  chalet  stair.  He  asked  of  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge,  who  was  raking  the  gravel  of  the  terrace,  if  he 
could  get  to  the  river. 

"  Does  M'sieu  then  wish  to  get  away  ?  "  asked  Pierre 
Monrouge  wondering,  open-mouthed.  "Did  M'sieu 
then  pass  an  unquiet  night?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  good  man.  I  want  a  plunge  in  the  lit- 
tle stream." 

"But  M'sieu  will  take  cold,"  returned  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge with  that  prudence  which  is  ever  present  with 
the  French  peasant  so  far  as  water  is  concerned. 

"I  shall  not  take  cold,"  laughed  Quentin;  "show 
me  the  way." 

"  M'sieu  must  have  the  key  of  the  little  door  by  the 
mill,"  said  Pierre  Monrouge.  "I  will  get  it  for 
M'sieu.  But  I  strongly  advise  the  M'sieu  against 
it.  We  take  les  grands  bains,  it  is  true,  on  several 
days  in  the  year.  On  Ascension  day,  par  example ! 
Tout  le  monde  takes  them  on  Ascension  day,  and  we 
immerse  the  whole  body  in  water  before  other  fete 
days ;  often  in  midsummer,  but  that  is  in  a  house, 
where  the  room  has  been  warmed.  To  dip  oneself  in 
the  cold  water  as  it  runs  from  the  hills,  it  is  indeed  to 
tempt  Providence,  and " 

Quentin  seized  the  key,  and  fairly  ran  away  to 
3 


34  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

escape  the  voluble  speech  which  Pierre  Monrouge  was 
pouring  out  upon  him.  He  hastened  along  the  path 
beneath  the  chateau  walls,  and  was  soon  at  the  mill 
door. 

He  glanced  as  he  ran  at  the  ruin  of  the  Abbey 
church,  now  showing  rugged  and  grey  in  the  early 
light,  but  a  feeling  of  loyalty  to  Madame  kept  him 
from  penetrating  its  interior.  This  was  her  present 
to  him,  his  kind  friend ;  the  pleasure  he  was  to  expe- 
rience within  the  next  few  days.  She  had  expressed 
a  wish  to  show  him  everything  of  interest,  herself. 
He  would  not  mar  her  kindly  anticipations  by  so 
much  as  a  glance. 

A  dip  in  the  cool  little  stream  which  flowed  just 
outside  the  Abbey  walls  in  a  world  where  he  was  the 
only  soul  awake,  and  a  run  back  to  the  chalet,  where 
he  encased  himself  in  fresh  clothes,  was  the  work  of 
a  half  hour.  Then  the  sun  began  to  creep  through  the 
top  of  the  pines  which  clothed  the  hill  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  road. 

Quentin  again  descended  the  chalet  stairs,  and  went 
along  the  terrace  toward  the  entrance  gate.  The  grille 
was  thrown  back,  the  door  was  open,  and  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge was  sweeping  away  the  ubiquitous  dust  of  yes- 
terday from  the  broad  stone  step. 

"  Can  I  get  up  the  hill  from  here?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"  The  M'sieu  has  but  to  walk  a  little  way  back  along 
the  road,  and  he  will  find  a  path,  a  narrow  little  path, 
which  leads  up  the  hillside.  But  will  not  M'sieu  have 
some  coffee  first? "  inquired  Pierre  Monrouge. 
"  Charles,  is  not  the  coffee  ready  ?  " 

Charles,  who  had  just  come  sleepily  out  from  a 
door  near  the  gate,  looked  in  surprise  at  the  strange 
Monsieur  standing  there,  dressed  for  the  day. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  35 

"M'sieu  must  be  cold,  the  water  must  have  chilled 
him,"  said  Pierre  Monrouge,  who  was  apparently  re- 
lieved to  see  Quentin  in  the  flesh  once  more. 

"I  am  not  cold,"  said  Quentin,  laughing.  "When 
is  breakfast?  " 

"At  all  times,  Monsieur,"  replied  Charles,  with  a 
sigh  of  protest  at  the  luxurious  irregularity  of  the 
early  family  meal. 

Quentin  passed  out  of  the  gate,  and  walked  back 
along  the  road  that  he  had  traversed  the  night  before. 
A  short  distance  from  the  chateau  he  passed  an  old 
iron  door  sunk  in  the  wall.  It  had  broad  and  strong 
hinges,  which  were  yellow  with  rust,  and  large  nails 
whose  angular  tops  spoke  plainly  of  a  long  past  age. 
Quentin  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  door. 
Tlien  he  glanced  upward  at  the  chalet  underneath 
whose  walls  it  was  placed.  He  was  satisfied  that  it 
was  the  door  of  which  Madame  had  told  him  the  night 
before,  whose  key  was  kept  in  the  chateau,  and  at 
once  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  his  mind  that 
it  was  through  this  door  the  priest  must  have  entered 
to  reach  the  small  dressing  room  where  he  was  now 
sleeping.     If  so,  how  had  he  obtained  the  key? 

Quentin  turned  away  from  the  mysterious  door  and 
mused  as  he  walked  onward.  "  Who  has  gone  in  and 
out  of  that  door?"  he  thought.  "What  wary  feet, 
what  scheming  heads,  what  black  hearts,  have  made 
use  of  it,  and  for  what  purpose?  "  His  mental  ques- 
tions were  colored  from  a  puritanical  standpoint,  but 
there  was  no  one  to  answer  them,  and  he  proceeded 
upon  his  way. 

He  soon  found  himself  in  the  little  path  of  which 
Charles  had  spoken.  Quentin  at  once  took  this 
foot-path,  and  was  soon  mounting  the  hill  with  easy 


36  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

strides.  When  the  path  crossed  the  country  road, 
he  struck  into  that  and  walked  on  for  nearly  an 
hour,  and  when  it  was  nearing  half  after  six  o'clock, 
he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps.  Walking  for  about 
an  hour  more,  he  came  out  upon  the  top  of  a  hill. 
This  hill,  he  supposed,  must  overlook  the  Abbey, 
but  he  had  no  way  of  ascertaining  this  fact.  As  he 
walked  along  the  crest  between  the  great  giants  of 
the  wood,  he  emerged  suddenly  into  a  little  glade. 
Here,  to  his  surprise,  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  head- 
stone. A  headstone  rather  yellow  and  moss-grown, 
but  it  was  evident  that  some  one  had  lately  been  at 
work  upon  the  inscription.  A  busy  and  faithful  hand 
had  been  cleaning  some  of  the  letters,  and  Q  uentin, 
leaning  down,  read  the  word  "General."  Following 
this  were  the  letters  "  Petr — "  "  So  this  was  the  rest- 
ing place  of  the  General !  General  Petrofsky,  of  whom 
Madame  had  spoken  with  so  much  widowed  pride. 
There  was  a  second  headstone  standing  there,  and 
Quentin  made  out  upon  it  the  name  "  Allaire  Carle- 
ton,  beloved  wife  of  H.  Valery,  Esq.,  aged  eighteen 
years  and  ten  months."  Beneath  this  again  was 
carved  the  words,  "She  has  found  peace." 

The  glade  was  a  nearly  circular  one.  The  absence 
of  branches  and  leaves  argued  that  it  was  carefully 
kept,  but  the  grass  was  long  and  yellow,  and  waved 
in  the  breeze  which  crept  through  the  wood.  Quen- 
tin circled  the  glade  about,  but  only  the  serried  ranks 
of  forest  trees  faced  him  as  he  tried  in  vain  to  peer 
between  their  trunks.  Being  a  member  of  the  Alpen 
Klub,  a  climber  of  repute  and  faithful  to  his  cult,  he 
was  anxious  to  obtain  a  view  as  much  as  to  get  his 
bearings.  As  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  but  one  by 
which  he  could  attain  this  object,  he  proceeded  to 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  37 

climb  a  low-brancliing  tree,  whose  great  height  seemed 
to  overlook  the  other  denizens  of  the  forest. 

Quentin  was  soon  at  the  top  of  the  tree.  Here  his 
eye  could  range  over  the  Valley  of  Moncousis,  and 
down  the  hill  upon  the  other  side,  along  a  second 
valley,  of  whose  name  he  was  ignorant.  Just  below 
him  lay  the  Abbey,  and  far  off,  like  a  winding  silver 
thread,  ran  the  little  stream,  the  "river"  of  Pierre 
Monrouge,  in  which  he  had  taken  his  dip,  now  nearly 
three  hours  ago. 

Quentin  was  lost  in  the  beauty  of  the  view.  At  his 
height  he  could  hear  nothing  but  the  sighing  of  the 
soft  morning  air  in  the  trees,  and  the  twitter  of  the 
woodland  birds.  Suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  a 
new  feeling,  a  void,  which  only  the  coffee  of  Charles 
could  satisfactorily  supply.  He  had  suddenly  dis- 
covered that  he  was  ravenously  hungry.  He  started 
to  descend,  and  as  he  proceeded  he  was  conscious  of 
a  far  voice  calling.  Was  it  for  him?  He  listened. 
No !  the  name  was  "  Alixe !  Alixe ! "  The  sound  did 
not  come  to  him  unfamiliarly.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
had  been  hearing  that  new,  sweet  name  all  the  morn- 
ing long. 

When  Quentin  had  descended  half  way  to  the 
ground,  he  seated  himself  for  a  few  moments  on  an 
inviting  branch.  But  for  the  noise  of  his  own  move- 
ments he  might  have  heard  the  sweeping  sound  of  a 
dress  across  the  long  grass  of  the  glade  where  no  foot- 
fall could  be  heard,  while  the  rustle  made  by  the  skirt 
of  the  gown  was  loud  enough  to  quench  to  the  ear  of 
its  owner  the  noise  made  by  his  movements  among 
the  leaves.  He  did  not  hear  the  step  which  entered 
the  glade  beneath,  nor  the  sigh  of  pleasure  with  which 
the  tall  figure  sank  down  at  the  foot  of  the  very  tree 


38  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

in  which  he  was  sitting.  But  he  was  aroused  from 
his  momentary  reverie  by  hearing  his  own  name.  It 
was  so  sudden  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  re- 
main quiet  and  hope  that  his  presence  would  not  be 
discovered. 

"  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about  Mr.  Quentin,  Alixe ; 
there  must  be  no  interference  there ! "  It  was  Ma- 
dame's  voice.  When  her  sentence  was  half  finished 
Quentin  was  just  about  to  cry  out,  "  Oh !  dear  Ma- 
dame, don't  talk  of  me,  or  I  shall  hear  no  good  of 
myself,"  but  the  second  half  of  the  sentence  caused 
him  to  sit  as  if  he  were  a  part  of  the  tree  itself. 

He  glanced  downward,  and  for  the  first  time  he  was 
aware  that  the  younger  woman  was  reclining  beneath 
the  tree,  his  tree,  and  that  he  was  stalled,  so  to  speak, 
by  her  presence.  Madame  had  evidently  just  followed 
Alixe  into  the  glade  and  was  standing  facing  her.  She 
was  panting  breathlessly. 

"I  wish  you  not  to  interfere,  do  you  hear?  Not  to 
interfere."  The  words  had  poured  forth  so  rapidly 
that  Quentin  had  no  choice  but  to  remain  where  he 
was. 

Madame's  tone  was  decidedly  sharp  and  impa- 
tient. 

"  How  can  you  stalk  ahead  so?  Here  I  have  been 
actually  chasing  you  up  the  hill.  Your  stride  is  like 
a  man's !  I  couldn't  make  you  hear  me,  though  I 
called  and  called !  Now,  do  you  hear,  Alixe,  I  will 
have  no  interference  with  Mr.  Quentin;  he  is  my 
friend."  There  was  an  emphasis  on  the  personal 
pronoun. 

At  the  first  sound  of  Madame's  voice,  Quentin  had 
been  minded  to  declare  himself,  but  now  he  sat  as  if 
frozen  to  marble.     The  least  word  or  sound  from  him 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  39 

and  he  should  be  forced  to  forsake  this  Paradise 
within  the  hour. 

"Interfere,  mother?  And  why  should  I  wish  to 
interfere?  The  man  is  nothing  tome!  God  knows 
that  I  have  annoyances  enough,  without  bringing 
others  upon  myself,  I  cannot  very  well  go  away, 
but  I  will  shut  myself  up,  if  you  wish." 

"Absurd!  Alixe.  You  know  that  those  are  things 
that  you  cannot  do,  we  should  have  a  fine  scandal,  but 
I  wish  you  to  understand  that  this  is  my  own  particu- 
lar friend,  and  that  the  less  you  see  of  him " 

"Why  should  I  see  anything  of  him?"  exclaimed 
Alixe  with  a  tone  and  intonation  that  made  Quentin's 
heart  to  fail.  "  I  am  sure  that  he  has  taken  no  notice 
of  me,  and  probably  will  not.  Don't  be  foolish, 
mother.  Ignore  me  utterly,  as  probably  he  will, 
and  as  I  shall  ignore  him." 

Quentin  in  his  amaze  and  mortification  did  not  fail 
to  note  that  the  younger  called  the  older  woman 
"Mother,"  plain  and  simple.  There  was  no  playful 
"  Mamasha  "  now,  no  "  Madame,"  and  no  caress  in  the 
word  which  did  duty  for  both. 

"  You  remember  Baron  Olsten, "  continued  Madame, 
in  her  high  voice,  which  had  suddenly  become  shrill 
and  unpleasant,  very  different  from  the  voice  in  which 
she  had  said  "  You  dear ! "  to  Quentin  in  the  chalet 
rooms  the  night  before.  "You  remember  also  per- 
haps Mr.  Lauderdale,  and  the  Marquis  de  Gelcon- 
court " 

"Was  it  my  fault,  mother?  Their  attentions  were 
hateful  to  me." 

"  —And  Mr.  le  Maurier " 

"  Mother !  he  seemed  to  me  more  like  a  detective 
than  anything  else.     He  was  so  inquisitive  and " 


40     THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  — And  then  there  was  Henry  Ware. " 

"  Mother !  do  not  insult  me !  I  never  looked  at  the 
little  man,  I  assure  you.     Why,  moth " 

"Do  say  Mamasha!"  said  Madame,  looking  anx- 
iously over  her  shoulder. 

"Mamasha,"  said  Alixe,  with  no  change  of  tone, 
"  I  never  looked  at  that  underbred  little  man.  Gartha 
caught  some  of  his  sayings,  and  I  was  obliged  to  cor- 
rect her  for  it.  I  never  object  to  your  asking  whom 
you  will  to  the  Abbey,  but  I  must  confess  I  was  sur- 
prised when " 

"You  seemed  to  be  very  attractive  to  him  at 
least " 

"Mother!  Mamasha!  can  I  help  that?  I  should 
not  know  Mr.  Henry  Ware  if  he  were  to  walk  into  the 
glade  this  very  moment." 

"Well,  he  looked  at  you  at  all  events." 

"And  can  I  help  that?  Do  not  annoy  me  with 
these  silly  and  hateful  suspicious  about  people  in 
whom  I  take  no  interest.  Do  be  more  serious.  Do 
respect  me  more.  Remember  the  conditions  which 
surround  me,  mother ;  you  of  all  people  in  the  world 
certainly  should  not  forget."  There  was  a  piteous 
emphasis  on  the  word  "you."  Quentin's  heart  sank 
still  lower  at  these  last  words.  "  And  if  I  am  unfortu- 
nate enough  to "  Alixe  broke  off  and  threw  her- 
self upon  the  grass,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  God !  "  she  cried  aloud.  "  Was  ever 
any  poor  creature  more  utterly  alone  in  the  world 
than  I?" 

"  You  are  not  alone,  Alixe,  if  you  would  comport 
yourself  like  other  people.     You  have  Bruno." 

"  Bruno ! "  The  word  so  uttered  told  -Quentin  more 
than  an  hour  of  explanation  could  have  done. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY    41 

Alixe  sat  upright  and  leaned  her  hand  against  the 
tree  where  Quentin  was  crouched  above  her.  She 
turned  about  slowlj  and  looked  at  Madame.  Quentin 
found  himself  gazing  down  upon  her  as  if  he  must 
read  her  very  thoughts.  He  wished  that  he  knew 
what  was  in  that  look  to  cause  Madame  to  turn  hur- 
riedly away.  Quentin  was  horribly  conscious  that  he 
had  tumbled  upon  a  secret  which  was  not  intended  for 
his  ears.  He  was  in  terror  for  fear  that  some  falling 
twig  or  leaf  should  cause  one  or  the  other  to  look  up- 
ward. 

Alixe  withdrew  her  eyes  from  Madame  and  sat  with 
her  hat  pushed  back,  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  white 
headstone  where  Quentin  had  read  the  name  of  Allaire 
Carleton,  beloved  wife  of  H.  Valery,  Esq.  She  ab- 
sently pulled  a  stem  of  grass  to  pieces  and  threw  the 
little  blue  blossoms  on  the  ground. 

Quentin's  position,  awkward  at  best,  was  becoming 
almost  unbearable.  He  felt  that  if  they  did  not  soon 
go  away  he  must  discover  himself  and  come  down 
from  the  tree.  Suddenly,  to  relieve  the  situation,  the 
Abbey  bell  clanged  out.  The  sound  was  sweet.  It 
rang  across  the  valley  and  up  the  hill.  Madame 
turned  away  with  an  exclamation  of  annoyance. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  so  late !  Will  j^ou  come 
down?  Half  past  eight!  What  will  they  think  of 
me?" 

Alixe  arose.  She  said  nothing.  She  had  taken  off 
the  Russian  hat,  and  her  head  was  bare.  Quentin 
saw  the  sun  shining  on  the  full  waves  of  her  hair,  and 
upon  the  silver  combs  pushed  forward  at  the  sides. 

"  Will  you  remember?  "  asked  Madame,  half  turn- 
ing at  the  edge  of  the  glade. 

"I  will  remember,"  answered  Alixe. 


42     THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Nothing  more  was  said.  Alixe  paced  slowly  down 
the  slope,  her  trailing  robe  rolling  the  falling  leaves 
over  and  over  with  an  early  autumnal  sound.  Ma- 
dame ran  ahead,  and  was  soon  tick-tacking  down  the 
hard  forest  road. 

When  they  were  well  out  of  sight  and  hearing, 
Quentin  arose  from  his  cramped  posture  in  the  tree. 
He  descended  slowly  and  dropped  to  the  place  where 
the  young  figure  of  Alixe  had  rested.  He  seated 
himself  where  she  had  sat,  and  picked  up  from  the 
ground  the  blue-eyed  grass  which  her  long  slim  fingers 
had  pulled  unconsciously  to  pieces. 

"  Poor  soul ! "  he  said  aloud.  "  Poor  soul ! "  and 
was  astonished  to  find  that  he  had  spoken.  He  put 
the  blossom  in  his  breast  pocket,  and  then  with  a 
"  Why  not?  "  took  it  boldly  out  and  thrust  it  within 
the  buttonhole  of  his  coat.  Then  he,  in  his  turn, 
slowly  descended  the  hill. 


m. 


When  Quentin  rang  at  the  door  in  the  wall  and  was 
admitted  by  Charles,  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  there 
were  not  many  persons  at  the  table.  He  advanced 
along  the  terrace,  curious  to  know  who  would  be 
seated  there.  The  Archbishop  from  his  place  upon 
Madame' s  right  gave  him  a  kindly,  if  a  stately  bow, 
and  others  nearer  him  looked  up  and  bent  their  heads 
slightly.  Alixe  was  in  her  seat  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  table,  the  Russian  hat  still  upon  her  head,  and 
Gartha  was  close  beside  her.  Madame  was  voluble, 
and  warmly  welcoming.  She  pressed  Quentin's  hand. 
Alixe  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  She  was  engaged  in 
preparing  some  food  for  Gartha.  Many  places  were 
empty  which  Quentin  remembered  to  have  seen  oc- 
cupied the  night  before  by  prettily  dressed  and  black- 
coated  figures. 

"  The  Baroness  and  Miss  Thorndyke  take  their  cof- 
fee in  their  rooms,  Charles,"  said  Madame.  "Has 
Marie  Monrouge  served  them?  Mr.  Le  Brun  and  Mr. 
Jennings  have  gone  to  town,  you  know,  your  Grace, 
and  Mrs.  Jennings  and  her  secretary  never  appear  at 
early  breakfast."  Charles  and  Eugene  were  occupied 
in  passing  the  cups  of  coffee  which  Madame  was  en- 
gaged in  preparing,  cups  so  large  as  to  deserve  the 
name  of  bowls.  Great  plates  of  bread  were  set  at 
various  places  down  the  length  of  the  table,  and  pitch- 


44  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

ers  of  steaming  cliocolate  at  intervals,  that  each  one 
might  serve  himself.  Silver  bowls  and  dishes,  heaped 
high  respectively  with  strawberries,  sugar,  and  iced 
rolls  of  butter,  held  their  own  positions  also,  and  bot- 
tles of  St.  Galmier  and  Evian  were  placed  between 
every  two  of  the  guests. 

"An  egg?  "  asked  Madame,  in  her  sweetest  of  high 
voices,  beaming  brightly  on  Quentin. 

"  Two,  please,  or  three ! "  said  Quentin,  endeavor- 
ing to  smile  so  broadly  as  to  feel  certain,  later,  that 
he  had  overdone  the  effort  to  make  his  whereabouts 
of  a  half  hour  earlier  unsuspected. 

Charles  opened  his  mouth  and  stood  regarding  the 
strange  Monsieur. 

"  Two,"  he  said.  "  Or  even  three ! "  He  went  tow- 
ard the  door  which  opened  into  the  kitchen.  "  Two 
or  even  three.  The  hens  of  the  Chateau  Bref  lay  but 
one  egg  at  a  time.  Two,  or  even  three !  Does  the 
strange  Monsieur  imagine  that  the  cuisine  of  the 
Chateau  Bref  holds  three  eggs  for  each  guest.  Sixty 
eggs  in  a  morning?  Two,  or  even  three.  Oh!  mon 
Dieu!" 

Quentin  apx)lied  himself  to  his  breakfast  with  the 
devotion  of  a  starved  pedestrian. 

There  was  no  sound  for  a  few  moments  but  the 
trickling  of  coffee  into  the  great  colored  bowls,  or 
Eugene's  "Sucre,  Monsieur?  Sucre,  Madame?  Cafe 
au  lait,  Monsieur?  Ah!  du  noir!  Bien,  Monsieur, 
bien!     Cest  ga!" 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  footstep  overhead. 
Then  a  sound  as  if  a  chair  had  suddenly  fallen. 
Quentin  involuntarily  raised  his  eyes.  As  he  did 
so,  he  caught  sight  of  Alixe  rising  abruptly  from  her 
seat  at  the  further  end  of  the  table.     She  stood  for  a 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  45 

moment,  irresolute,  listening,  and  then  sat  down 
again. 

"AVlio  is  in  Monsieur  Quentin's  rooms,  Eugene?" 
asked  Madame  in  her  high  key. 

"  It  is  no  one,  Mamasha."  Alixe  had  again  arisen. 
"  Rather,  I  will  go  and  see  if  Mr.  Quentin  will  allow 
me." 

"Sit  still,  Alixe,"  called  Madame,  with  heightened 
color,  "and  do  take  off  that  dreadful  hat." 

"It — it — is  the — other — maid,"  stammered  Quen- 
tin, arraying  himself  unconsciously  on  what  he  felt  at 
once  to  be  the  side  of  Alixe. 

"We  have  no  other  maid  but  Nanette.  She  is 
Alixe's  maid.     Perhai)8  Henri  w^ent  up  to " 

Alixe  with  no  reply  to  Madame  had  left  her  chair 
and  was  now  at  the  chalet  stairs. 

Quentin  arose  also  with  a  careless  "  I  will  go  and 
see,"  and  followed  slowly  to  the  archway.  Madame 
looked  annoyed  and  half  arose,  but  at  the  Arch- 
bishop's calm  "Do  not  disturb  yourself,  my  friend," 
she  seated  herself.  Quentin  thought  that  he  knew 
the  cause  of  Alixe's  disappearance,  though  he  hardly 
knew  why  he  was  following  "her.  He  mounted  the 
stairs  lingeringly,  reached  the  floor  of  his  bedroom 
and  haltingly  entered. 

The  door  which  led  into  the  dressing  room  was  un- 
bolted. He  paused,  then  passed  with  increasing  hesi- 
tancy toward  the  doorway.  Ho  wished  to  be  within 
call  should  he  be  needed,  and  yet,  he  was  not  at  home ; 
a  stranger  here.  He  listened,  but  heard  no  voices. 
He  entered  the  middle  room;  it'was  6mpty.  Ashe 
halted,  again  irresolute,  Alixe  came  hastening  toward 
him  from  the  third  room,  the  so-called  closet.  She 
breathed  as  if  she  had  been  running.     She  had  a  key 


46     THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

in  her  hand.  She  walked  swiftly  through  the  disor- 
dered rooms,  Quentin  following  her.  She  paused  for 
a  moment  on  the  landing  outside  his  door. 

"  I — I — thought  that  Mamasha  had  put  you  in  the 
left  wing, "  she  said.  "I  made  a  mistake.  I  hope 
that  you  will  pardon  it." 

"Pardon?     Pardon  what,  Mad " 

"All,"  she  replied.  She  gave  him  a  look  pregnant 
with  meaning  and  hastened  down  the  stairs. 

As  Quentin  again  took  his  seat,  he  heard  Alixe 
laughing  gayly.  Perhaps  it  was  his  late  experience 
which  made  the  laughter  seem  forced  to  him. 

"Only  the  same  old  thing,  Mamasha,"  she  called 
down  the  length  of  the  table.  "  I  hardly  know  whether 
it  is  the  wind  or  the  rats,  and  in  broad  daylight  too !  " 

"  I  will  answer  for  it  that  there  is  no  rat  behind 
your  arras,  Madame,"  said  the  Archbishop,  smiling  at 
his  neighbour. 

"Hola!  Hola!  What  a  fine  company  have  we 
here!     And,  pray,  who  are  all  these  good  people?" 

There  was  a  slight  suspicion  of  an  Hibernian  accent 
in  the  good  natured  tone. 

"  Valery  !  "  said  Madame  in  an  explanatory  whisper 
to  the  Archbishop.  "Bear  with  him  if  you  can,  your 
Grace." 

"  The  Rastaquouere?  "  asked  the  Archbishop  under 
his  breath,  with  an  indulgent  smile.  "  I  am  delighted ! 
I  am  in  luck ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Madame,  with  a  sigh  of  pity  for  her- 
self, "  the  Kastaquouere !  " 

"  Papachen  !  papacheu !  "  It  was  Gartha  who  had 
arisen  from  her  chair  and  had  flown  at  this  bird  of 
gorgeous  plumage.  "When  did  you  get  here?  You 
said  you  would  come  back  last  night." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  47 

"Petite  polissonne,  come  back  to  j-our  eating," 
screamed  Mademoiselle,  who  loved  to  air  her  Eng- 
lish. 

The  new  arrival  sauntered  up  to  the  table.  The 
sweetest  of  odours  came  with  him,  preceded  him  al- 
most. 

"I  hate  a  perfumed  man,"  said  Madame  in  an 
undertone  to  Quentin. 

"You  promised  to  come  back  last  night,  Valery," 
said  Gartha ;  "  I  watched  and  watched " 

"  So  I  did,  little  one,  but,  you  know,  I  was  born  to 
break  promises." 

He  seated  himself  as  near  Alixe  and  as  far  from 
Madame  as  circumstances  would  permit. 

"He  doesn't  wear  an  electric  light  in  his  scarf  pin," 
whispered  Miss  Jenkins  to  Quentin.  "  I  am  so  dis- 
appointed !  I  had  at  the  least  expected  that !  You 
know,  like  the  little  man  who  goes  round  thimble-rig- 
ging in  the  Paris  cafes." 

"I  don't  know  this  gentleman  as  well  as  I  do  the 
other,"  answered  Quentin,  "but  I  should  say  that  he 
was  a  touch  above  that." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  there  is  no  one  who  has  not  a 
mission  in  life,"  returned  the  speaker,  "either  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously.  His  seems  to  be  to  keep 
other  men  up  to  the  mark  in  the  way  of  neatness  of 
person  and  dress.  Heaven  forbid  that  they  should 
emulate  his  magnificence  and  variety  of  color  and 
adornment." 

"Gorgeous  being,  though,  he  is,"  broke  in  Mary 
Thorndyke;  "there  is  nothing,  well,  what  j'ou  would 
call  common  about  him;  he  is " 

"Most  uncommon,  I  should  say,"  returned  Miss 
Jenkins. 


48     THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

He  was  a  butterfly  of  the  first  and  clearest  water, 
this  Eastaquouere.  He  was  immaculate.  Most  men 
appear  fresh  and  spotless  on  a  summer  morning,  but 
the  dazzling  snowiness  of  the  newcomer's  linen  caused 
each  man  at  the  table  to  cast  a  hasty  glance  downward 
at  his  own  shirt  front.  The  waistcoat  of  the  new- 
comer was  of  pale  green,  ornamented  with  large  white 
pearl  buttons,  and  was  crossed  by  a  conspicuously 
heavy  chain  of  gold.  His  light  grey  coat  was  of  thin 
flannel,  and  his  white  trousers  were  of  the  same  ma- 
terial. Upon  his  feet  he  wore  low  shoes  of  fine  rus- 
set leather,  and  when  he  moved  sufliciently  his  yellow 
socks,  clocked  with  blue,  showed  a  studied  care  for 
his  entire  person.  His  necktie  of  delicate  pink,  his 
sleeve  links,  his  studs,  the  middle  one  of  which  showed 
a  large  opal  set  with  diamonds,  his  finger  rings,  which 
were  many  and  blazed  like  the  constellations  of  the 
heavens,  his  almost  crimson  face,  short  nose,  china 
blue  eyes,  and  red,  well  kept  moustache,  plentifully 
sprinkled  with  grey,  made  a  combination  not  easily 
forgotten. 

Gartha  struggled  at  once  with  sinuous  persistent 
motion  up  to  his  knees,  and  wound  her  arms  round 
his  large  neck,  thereby  disarranging  the  necktie,  and 
creasing  the  waistcoat,  which  had  heretofore  sat  so 
smoothly  over  the  portly  figure  beneath. 

The  newcomer  sat  patiently,  while  the  child  caressed 
him,  pulling  his  moustache  apart  that  she  might  im- 
print a  kiss  directly  upon  his  lips ;  drawing  from  his 
well-kept  fingers  his  many  gorgeous  and  enormous 
rings,  and  hanging  them  upon  her  own  little  paws, 
from  which  they  fell  one  after  the  other;  jerking  his 
heavy  watch  from  his  pocket,  and  putting  it  to  her 
ear,  insisting  upon  knowing  what  was  the  time  in 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  49 

Africa  at  the  moment.  Then  denuding  him  of  the 
chain  also,  she  hung  it  round  her  own  brown  neck. 
Suddenly  the  victim  lifted  the  jewel-bedecked  little 
creature  from  his  knee,  seated  her  on  the  gravel  be- 
side his  chair,  and  held  out  his  bowl  for  some  coffee. 

There  was  silence  for  a  while,  disturbed  only  by 
the  breaking  of  an  egg,  or  a  murmured  sentence,  from 
some  one,  in  the  ear  of  a  near  neighbour. 

Valery  set  down  his  empty  cup.  "  How  Alixe  spoils 
you ! "  said  he,  looking  down  on  the  dark  little  head 
by  his  side. 

Gartha  arose  and  stood  by  the  table,  glittering  like 
the  Queen  of  Sheba. 

"You  spoil  her,  Valery,"  said  Alixe,  laughing. 

"So  does  every  one,"  said  Valerj^  in  a  pleasant, 
tolerant  voice. 

"You  spoil  me  yourself,  Alixe,"  said  Gartha. 
"  Mamasha  says  you  do. " 

"  I  like  to  spoil  you, "  said  Alixe.  "  You  are  the  only 
one  I  have  to  spoil." 

"Did  you  never  have  a  little  girl  of  your  own, 
Alixe?  "  asked  Gartha. 

"No,"  answered  Alixe,  unembarrassed  by  this 
pointed  question  and  looking  straight  into  Gartha' s 
eyes.  "  If  I  had,  I  should  have  wanted  her  to  be  just 
like  Gartha."  At  this  compliment  Gartha  laughed 
gavly. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  broken  in  a  moment  by 
Gartha. 

"Valery,"  she  said,  "what  is  a  Eastaquouere?  " 

Valery  set  down  his  second  cup  carefully,  wiped 

his  moustache  and  leaned  back  so  far  that  there  seemed 

to  be  danger  of  his  going  over  on  to  the  gravel  behind 

him.     He  turned  his  head  toward  the  end  of  the  table 

4 


50  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

where  Madame,  having  caught  the  question,  sat  look- 
ing down  and  growing  somewhat  red. 

"Mamasha,"  he  called,  "you  taught  her  that." 

"I  did  not,  Valery,"  came  back  in  Madame 's  high 
key. 

"Well,  then,  she  heard  you  say  it." 

"  I  am  not  responsible  for  all  that  Gartha  hears, 
Valery.  Alixe  indulges  the  child  to  such  an  ex- 
tent  " 

"But  she  heard  you  say  it,  Mamasha.  Now, 
didn't  she?" 

The  Archbishop's  keen  eyes  were  fixed  on  Madame. 

She  hesitated— "Well,  well—"  she  finally  answered 
— "and  are  you  not,  Valery,  dear?  " 

"  You  made  her  think  it  a  term  of  reproach,  Ma- 
masha." 

"Oh,  no,  no!  Valery,  dear,"  called  Madame  down 
the  vista  of  glass  and  silver.  "  But— but— and  isn't 
it— well,  you  know— rather— Valery,  dear?  " 

"Eatherwhat?  A  term  of  reproach?  No;  I  have 
had  no  cause  to  think  so,  Mamasha,  me  jool!  and 
neither  will  you  when  you  see  into  my  boxes.  Don't 
you  think  your  views  are  somewhat — ah— colored  by 
circumstances?     Oh,  fie!  Mamasha;  oh,  fie!" 

Valery 's  comic  tone  of  reproof  brought  a  smile,  if 
a  concealed  one,  to  every  lip.  It  somewhat  discon- 
certed Madame.  She  was  put  so  entirely  in  the  wrong 
before  those  with  whom  she  wished  to  seem  entirely 
in  the  right.  She  glanced  at  Quentin,  who  was  smil- 
ing more  at  Valery 's  manner  and  brogue  than  at  the 
subject  of  his  words.  She  reached  out  her  hand,  has- 
tily seized  a  glass  of  water  and  as  hurriedly  swal- 
lowed it. 

"  Poor  old  Mamasha !  "  said  Valery. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  51 

Madame's  cheek  flushed,  but  she  made  some  trivial 
remark  to  the  Archbishop,  and  then  turned  to  Quen- 
tin. 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  the  care  of  such  a  house 
as  this  entails  upon  me,  Mr.  Quentin,"  she  said. 
"  Dear  old  Mamasha ! "  exclaimed  Valerj^  again. 
"  I  am  sure  you  are  more  than  good  to  ask  us  all 
here  and  give  yourself  so  much  trouble  about  us,"  re- 
plied Quentin. 

She  turned  a  pleased  face  toward  him. 
"Dear  friend,"  she  said,  "you  are  too  kind." 
Meanwhile  Gartha  was  clamoring:  "Your  boxes! 
Your  boxes!     When   are  they  coming?    When  are 
they  coming?  " 

"They  are  coming,"  said  Valery,  resuming  his  in- 
terrupted meal. 

The  Archbishop  leaned  forw^ard  with  interest. 
''Boxes?"  he  said.     "Ha— hum!    Boxes?    He  is 
a  good  son  of  the  church,  is  he  not,  Madame?  " 

"I  wish  that  Alixe  were  as  good  a  daughter,"  said 
Madame. 

"They  are  talking  about  us  down  there,"  said  Gar- 
tha, in  plainly  audible  tones. 

The  Archbishop  cleared  his  throat  in  a  politely  re- 
pressed manner. 

"I— I— was  saying  to— to— ahem!  your  aunt,  my 
dear,  that  I  wish  your — the  Duchess  were  as  good  a 
daughter  of  the  church  as  your  father  is  a  son." 

"  Aunt ! "  exclaimed  A^alery  in  an  undertone.  "  Aunt, 
eh!  That's  a  new  reading,"  and  then  in  a  voice  that 
caused  his  neighbor,  the  Baroness,  to  wince,  as  if  at 
the  sound  of  a  drum,  "that's  what  I'm  always  telling 
her,  your  Grace.     Isn't  it,  Alixe?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are  certainly  !  "  smiled  Alixe. 


52  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"I  wish  tliat  you  were  a  daughter  of  Mother 
Church,"  repeated  the  Archbishop. 

"The  old  question,  your  Grace,"  said  Alixe,  look- 
ing brightly  at  him. 

"  She  shall  be  in  time,  your  Grace,"  said  Madame, 
assuringly. 

"Do  not  make  any  promises  for  me,  Mamasha," 
said  Alixe,  with  great  seriousness.  "  It  is  all  that  I 
can  do  to  keep  my  own  promises." 

Quentin's  eyes  were  drawn  to  where  Alixe  sat.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  all  eyes  were  attracted  toward  her, 
that  at  whichever  end  she  seated  herself,  that  end  must 
ever  be  the  head  of  the  table.  She  sat,  her  elbows, 
from  which  the  loose  sleeves  had  fallen  away,  resting 
on  the  board  before  her,  her  fingers  clasped  under- 
neath a  very  determined  looking  chin.  He  mentally 
decided  that  here  was  a  personality  which  no  one 
could  coerce,  least  of  all  Madame,  Madame  with  her 
weak,  pretty  mouth,  and  her  sweetly  shrill  or  petulant 
tones,  according  as  to  who  there  was  to  hear. 

To  Quentin  it  seemed  as  if  Madame  were  ever 
silently  apologizing  to  this  tall  girl  called  Alixe,  who 
never  reproached  her.  The  younger  woman  met  the 
elder  ever  with  a  pleasant  smile.  She  said  little  about 
the  orders  for  the  household — in  fact,  she  did  not  in- 
terfere.    Madame  was  apparently  the  mistress  here. 

He  wondered  why  the  younger  woman  did  not  show 
her  splendid  height.  She  was  taller  than  any  woman 
there ;  as  tall  as  most  men.  Quentin's  fine  height  of 
an  inch  over  six  feet  did  not  look  down  upon  her  by 
more  than  three  inches.  She  carried  her  shoulders 
drawn  upward.  Her  head  a  little  down  drooped,  but 
occasionally,  when  for  some  reason  she  seemed  to  for- 
get herself  in  admiration  of  a  thrilling  tale,  or  in  an 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  53 

involuntary  greeting  to  a  friend,  she  raised  her  head 
and  straightened  herself  to  her  full  height. 

"  Gartha,  take  your  arms  off  the  table, "  said  Valery . 

"ButAlixe — "  began  Gartha. 

"  Alixe  is  different,"  said  Valery. 

Alixe  was  lost  in  thought.  She  did  not  appear  con- 
scious of  the  discussion,  and  Quentin  acknowledged 
to  himself  that  all  that  she  did  was  indeed  done  with 
a  difference. 

"  How  many  nationalities  are  represented  round  this 
table ! "  remarked  Miss  Thorndyke. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  "and  in  France,  too, 
and  not  one  Frenchman  or  woman  present — if  we  ex- 
cept the  servants,  to  be  sure." 

"His  Grace,"  said  Alixe,  looking  up,  "you  forget 
him." 

"Oh,  yes!     The  Archbishop,  certainly." 

"And  the  Baroness,"  said  Valery. 

"She  is  an  Italian,"  said  Miss  Spencer. 

"And  Mademoiselle,"  said  Valery. 

"Yes,  but  no  more." 

"And  my  Uncle  Bruno,"  said  Gartha.  "Ah,  bah! 
how  I  hate  my  Uncle  Bruno !  " 

Every  one  but  Alixe  showed  their  amusement  by 
laughing  at  Gartha's  speech. 

"  Why  do  you  give  me  an  oeillade  like  that,  Alixe?  " 

"You  are  in  your  Uncle  Bruno's  house,  Gartha," 
said  Alixe,  gravely.     "  He  need  not  be  included." 

"  Dieu  merci !  "  said  Gartha  openly. 

"  *  Bruno's  house ! '  I  like  that ! "  said  Valery  aside 
to  Miss  Spencer. 

Gartha,  opening  her  eyes  very  wide,  exclaimed,  "  I 
thought  it  was  Mamasha's !  Nom  de  Dieu !" 

"So  every  one  thinks,"  confided  Valery  to  Miss 


54  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Spencer,  "  and  the  funny  part  of  it  is  she  never  con- 
tradicts 'em.  I  think  she  has  begun  to  believe  it  her- 
self." 

"Bruno's!"  returned  Miss  Spencer  in  an  under- 
tone, which  was  full  of  subtle  meaning.  "  That  is  too 
good." 

"  Your  Uncle  Bruno  is  not  a  Frenchman,"  said  Miss 
Thorndyke;  "  he  is  a  Spaniard !" 

"If  Bruno  had  had  his  way,  "continued  Miss  Spen- 
cer in  Valery 's  ear,  "  there  wouldn't  be  much  of  it  left 
by  now.  I  hear  that  before  Mamasha  married  him  to 
Alixe  he  had  dissipated  half  the  property." 

"She  needs  a  guardian,"  said  Valery.  "They  all 
do,  in  fact,  Mamasha  as  well  as  the  rest  of  'em."  He 
looked  down  at  the  tablecloth.  "I  see  she's  got  a 
new  one,"  he  said  in  an  undertone  behind  his  mous- 
tache. 

"She  is  always  getting  a  new  one, "  returned  Miss 
Spencer,  watching  Alixe  to  see  that  she  did  not  hear. 

"  He's  a  well  set-up  chap.  Where  did  she  pick  hiip 
up?" 

"At  some  watering  place,  I  believe." 

"That's  where  she  always  gets  'em,"  said  Valery. 
"  She  corresponds  with  'em  and  gets  'em  down  here, 
and  then  makes  'em  fetch  and  carry,  but,  then,  she's 
still  a  fairly  good-looking  little  woman  by  lamplight 
and  under  a  veil,  is  Mamasha." 

"She  has  a  phenomenal  back,"  acquiesced  Miss 
Jenkins.  "You  might  take  her  for  nineteen  if  you 
walk  behind  her.     How  old  is  she,  Mr.  Valery?  " 

"Who?  Mamasha?  Let  —  me  —  see.  Mamasha 
must  be — well,  Mamasha  must  be  all  of  forty-three  ; 
she  was  married  at  seventeen.  Yes,  that's  gospel,  I 
know  it." 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  55 

"  You  were  talking  of  tlie  nationalities  represented 
here,"  said  Miss  Thorndyke  from  across  the  table, 
breaking  in  on  this  confidential  conversation.  "  Al- 
most every  known  nationality.     Russian " 

"  Where  is  a  Russian?  "  asked  Valery. 

"Madame." 

"Oh,  is  she  a  Russian? " 

"Is  she  not?" 

"  American,  pure  and  simple. " 

"Where  does  she  get  her  accent  then?  "  whispered 
Miss  Spencer. 

"  Where  she  gets  most  of  the  rest  of  her  make-be- 
lieves," confided  Yalery,  who  was  chafing  under  Ma- 
dame's  ridicule  of  him.  "  Where  she  gets  her  lisp 
and  her  baby  ways.  They  take  some  people  in,  but 
they  can't " 

"I'm  an  American  girl,  "said  Miss  Thorndyke,  who 
looked  much  older  than  Madame,  "  but  I'm  often  taken 
for  English." 

"Girl,  I  think  you  said?"  inquired  the  Rasta- 
quouere.  "Oh,  I  was  only  rounding  out  3' our  sen- 
tence for  you,"  as  he  saw  the  angry  glance  which 
Miss  Thorndyke  flashed  back  at  him.  "  Well,  I'm 
never  taken  for  an  Englishman,  thank  God." 

"No,  you  would  hardly  be  that,"  returned  Miss. 
Thorndyke,  eyeing  him  criticall3\ 

"See  that  now!  Talk  to  a  woman  about  her 
a " 

Here  Yalery  was  interrupted,  much  to  Miss  Thorn- 
dyke's  relief. 

Gartlia  was  standing  bj' Yalery 's  side.  She  leaned 
over  and  looked  proudly  up  and  down  the  table. 

"Rastaquouere,"  she  said,  "is  only  my  Papa's 
branche  de  commerce— affaire,  occupation,  ah,  bah! 


56  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

How  I  hate  tliat  French.  His  real  name  is  Hilary 
Yalery." 

"  It  might  as  well  be  Alibone-crackibone ! "  said  Ma- 
dame in  a  low  tone  to  Quentin,  who  found  himself 
smiling  at  the  quaint  conceit.  "  Yalery 's  name  always 
reminds  me  of  the  way  American  children  do  what 
they  call  '  counting  out,'"  continued  Madame,  who 
had  a  humor  of  her  own  and  a  grudge  against  the  sub- 
ject of  her  remarks. 

"  Oner  J — tivoery — zicJcerj — zan—Hihrj — Valerj  — 
Dont — you — knoiu  !  " 

Quentin  was  tempted  to  burst  into  hilarious  laugh- 
ter, but  the  proprieties  permitted  onlj^  a  contraction  of 
the  corners  of  his  mouth.  The  last  words  were  jerked 
out  by  Madame  with  the  same  emi)hasis  as  those 
which  had  preceded  them.  The  Archbishop  leaned 
toward  the  reciter  trying  to  follow  her.  He  knew  a 
little  English,  but  his  acquaintance  was  with  English 
books  and  not  with  the  language  fluently  spoken, 
least  of  all  with  American  jokes. 

"  Je  ne  comprends  pas,"  he  said,  with  a  puzzled 
look. 

Madame  repeated  her  words,  but  they  were  as 
the  language  of  the  Chinese  to  the  prelate's  unac- 
customed ear.  Whereupon  Madame  entered  into 
a  lengthy  explanation  in  French,  in  which  she 
was  quite  at  home.  The  Archbishop  was  a  close 
listener  to  the  painstaking  sentences  of  Madame. 
When  she  came  to  the  words  "Alibone-crackibone" 
he  laughed  irrepressibly,  repeating  the  sounds  sev- 
eral times,  rolling  them  over  upon  his  tongue  with 
gusto. 

"They  are  laughing  at  us  down  there,"  said  Gartha 
to  her  father.     Then,  raising  her  voice  and  looking  at 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  57 

Madame  defiantly,  slie  added,  "  It  is  a  beautiful  name, 
though  Mamasha  thinks  No." 

"  So  it  is,  dear ! "  said  Alixe,  patting  Gartha's  lit- 
tle brown  claw. 

"You  lose,  Mamasha,"  shouted  Valery  along  the 
vista  of  bowls  and  syphons. 

"  That  dreadful  man !  "  murmured  Madame.  Then 
in  a  louder  tone,  "  So  it  is,  Gartha  dear ! " 

"You  win,  dear  old  Mamasha,"  shouted  Valery 
again. 

"  Don't  wait,"  said  Madame,  bowing  down  the  table, 
uncertain  what  turn  Valery 's  remarks  would  take  next. 
"Breakfast  is  an  informal  meal,  you  know."  Most 
of  the  seats  were  vacated  at  the  permission  so  gra- 
ciously given,  the  guests  sauntering  along  the  terrace 
by  twos  and  threes. 


IV. 


QuENTiN  found  himself  standing  at  the  open  grille, 
in  front  of  which  the  carriage  was  waiting.  "  Par- 
kere,"  the  English  coachman,  whom  Quentin  shortly 
discovered  was  saluted  in  his  own  country  by  the 
name  of  Barker,  sat  on  the  box,  whip  in  hand,  stiff 
as  a  statue.  Occasionally,  it  is  true,  he  permitted  him- 
self a  little  liberty,  somewhat  relaxing  his  truly  Brit- 
ish vertebrse,  for  what  did  them  Frenchies  h' under- 
stand of  coachmen,  and  what  did  they  compre'end  of 
'^'osses  he  would  like  to  know?  Barker  had  been  de- 
graded into  the  cinnamon-colored  coat  so  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  the  Parisian  noblesse,  and  how  could  he 
have  the  moral  courage  to  preserve  the  stolidity  of 
the  imported  English  coachmen,  when  his  mongrel 
appearance  was  so  decidedly  against  the  supposition 
that  he  was  one  of  them? 

"Parkere  est  smart,  tres  smart, "  remarked  the  Bar- 
oness. The  Baroness,  if  reduced  to  making  intermin- 
able visits  to  her  wealthy  friends,  so  that  Monsieur  le 
Baron  need  not  be  docked  of  his  daily  glasses  of  ab- 
sinthe as  he  sat  in  front  of  Maxim's,  got  a  sort  of 
equivalent  from  those  loiterings  of  his  which  was  the 
bringing  home  to  her  by  the  Baron  of  the  latest  Pari- 
sian slang  learned  at  Maxim's  and  which  she  could 
retail  to  her  friends. 

"  Holloa !  that's  my  old  friend  Barker ! "  exclaimed 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  59 

Valery.  "Barker,  your  horses  are  too  fat.  All  French 
horses  are  too  fat  except  those  little  rats  on  the  Champs 
Elysees." 

Barker  smiled  appreciatively  and  commendingly. 

Valery  stood  contemplating  the  carriage,  the  horses, 
the  coachman,  all  got  up  in  the  very  latest  French 
idea  of  style. 

"  Who  are  those  people  over  across  the  valley,  Bar- 
ker? "  asked  he.  "  Those  who  drive  such  a  swell  turn- 
out?" 

"Dose  vith  ze  boule  dogue,"  added  the  Baroness. 

"  I  believe  they  did  have  a  bull  dog.  They  were 
what  you  would  call  tres  smart.  Baroness.  Who  are 
they.  Barker?  " 

Barker  turned  fraternally  toward  this  Irish  gentle- 
man who  knew  what  good  horses  were. 

"You  wouldn't  know  'em,  sir,"  he  said. 

"I  wouldn't  know  'em?  Indeed,  then,  would  I. 
They  might  give  me  a  mount  now  and  then." 

"  No,  sir !  "  reiterated  Barker.  "  You  wouldn't 
know  'em.  There's  plenty  of  mounts  in  h'our  stables, 
sir.  You  wouldn't  know  them  parties,  sir.  They 
jobs  their  'osses,  sir." 

Valery  chuckled.  "  I  job  my  own,"  he  said,  "  when 
I  have  any." 

Barker  allowed  the  iron  in  his  back  to  relax.  He 
leaned  slightly  toward  the  Eastaquouere  and  said, 
"Mr.  Valery,  sir,  can  I  speak  with  you  a  minute?" 

The  men  were  putting  the  Archbishop's  modest  lug- 
gage on  behind. 

"  What  is  it,  Barker?  Don't  they  pay  you  enough? 
That's  Madame.  You  must  go  to  the  Duchess, 
she " 

Barker  leaned  down  confidentially,  if  stiffly. 


60  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"H'l  asks  you  as  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Valery,  who 
know  wliat  tilings  is,  not  as  li'I  hever  wishes  to  com- 
plain, but  h'l  asks  you  as  a  gentleman,  in  confidence, 
if  you  really  do  think  they  pays  me  enough,  an'  me 
wearin'  a  coat  like  that " — Barker  stretched  out  his 
arm  and  contemplated  its  cinnamon  colored  covering. 

Valery  took  the  coachman  in  with  critical,  compre- 
hensive look. 

"Barker,"  he  said  finally,  with  solemn  tone,  "it 
would  be  hard  to  keep  one's  self  unspotted  of  the 
world  in  such  a  coat  as  that.  It  is — really — awful ! 
A  man  loses  his  self  respect " 

"  Yes,  sir,  an'  takes  to  drink  an'  loses  control  of  the 
'osses." 

"  I  should  resign  from  the  British  House  of  Lords 
if  I  were  forced  to  wear  such  a  coat  as  that.  Be  pa- 
tient until  I  have  a  talk  with  Madame,  and  when  you 
come  back  from  the  station,  I  will  tell  you  her  ver- 
dict." 

"  A  cinnamon  top-coat, "  said  Valery,  laughing  over 
Barker's  confidences  a  little  later,  "  You  can  fairly 
smell  him.  'Isles  of  the  Blest, '  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing-.  '  What  though  the  spicy  breezes  blow  soft 
o'er  Ceylon's  isle.'  They'd  put  him  in  a  show  in 
London." 

"  What  is  it?  "  Madame  asked  of  Charles,  who  was 
standing  persistently  behind  her  chair,  and  interrupt- 
ing her  last  words  with  the  Archbishop,  for  they  had 
been  left  alone  at  the  table. 

"The  carriage  for  his  Grace,  Madame." 

"Is  the  luggage  in?  "  asked  Madame. 

"  'Must  I  thus  leave  thee.  Paradise?  '  "  quoted  the 
prelate  regretfully.     "  Is  it  possible  that  my  hour  has 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  61 

come?  "  He  arose  and  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  ter- 
race'. He  stood  looking  down  for  a  moment  on  the 
ruin,  and  the  valley,  now  smiling  in  the  sunshine. 
Then  he  turned  to  Madame,  who  had  followed  him. 

"Will  you  send  the  Duchess  here?  "  he  said. 

Madame  approached  Alixe,  who  was  standing,  with 
Gartha  hanging  to  her  arm,  a  little  further  along  the 
terrace. 

Alixe  turned  at  once,  and  Quentin  fancied  that  she 
cast  a  half  perceptible  glance  at  him,  but  he  did  not 
move  toward  her,  neither  did  he  follow  her  with  his 
eyes. 

Some  of  the  guests  had  seated  themselves  beneath 
the  broad  tree  under  which  Quentin  had  seen  Madame 
and  the  Archbishop  talking  on  the  previous  night. 
Valery,  returning  from  his  conference  with  Barker, 
suddenly  seized  Gartha  up  from  the  ground.  She 
struggled  violently,  to  the  great  disarrangement  of 
her  clothing.  Some  of  the  rings  slipped  off  her  fin- 
gers and  rolled  in  the  gravel. 

"I  hate  money  for  money's  sake,"  said  Madame  in 
a  low  tone  to  Quentin,  whom  she  had  joined.  He 
hardly  heard  what  she  had  said.  He  was  uncon- 
sciously straining  his  ears  for  a  word  from  that  tall 
pair  standing  beyond  the  great  tree's  shade.  The 
sun  shone  down  on  them  and  enveloped  them  with  a 
brightness  which  was  dazzling.  Finally,  they  began 
to  move  slowly  toward  the  entrance  gate.  Quentin 
caught  some  low  indistinct  words  as  they  passed  him 
by.  He  thought  that  they  sounded  like  "I  cannot 
promise." 

Whereupon  the  Archbishop  bowed  a  cold  good-bye 
to  Alixe,  took  Madame's  soft,  warm  hand  in  his  own 
and  held  it  just  a  moment  longer  than  friendliness  re- 


62  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

quired,  pressed  sometliing  into  tlie  palm  of  Charles, 
and  was  gone.  As  he  disappeared,  Madame  called 
to  the  Eastaquouere. 

"Valery,"  she  said  sharply,  "I  wish  you  would 
come  here  a  moment." 

"Dear  old  Mamasha  can't  live  without  her  young- 
est, can  she?  "  saidYalery,  raising  his  weighty  figure 
out  of  the  easy  chair,  where  he  had  just  seated  him- 
self, to  enjoy  his  cigar  with  the  men  of  the  party. 
He  approached  Madame  slowly,  keeping  his  cigar 
alight,  but  when  he  reached  the  place  where  she  was 
standing,  holding  it  down  under  cover  of  his  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Mamasha?  "  asked  he  good  naturedly. 

"Valery,  there  is  one  habit  that  I  wish  you  would 
break  yourself  of."  Madame  spoke  sharply.  There 
was  a  red  spot  on  each  soft  cheek. 

"Gracious!  How  handsome  you  look,  Mamasha. 
I  have  half  a  mind  to  kiss  you."  Madame,  somewhat 
mollified,  continued: 

"  I  do  wish,  Valery,  that  you  would  not  address  me 
as  you  do." 

"  How?  Mamasha?  Always  called  you  Mamasha. 
Thought  you  liked  it.  We're  both  too  old  to  change 
now,  I  fancy.     What  shall  I  call  you.     Moth " 

Madame's  brow  had  grown  darker  with  each  suc- 
ceeding word  of  his  speech. 

"  No !  No !  No !  Don't  be  stupid.  You  wilfully 
misunderstand  me,  I  think,  sometimes." 

"  What's  the  woman  driving  at !  "  exclaimed  the  cul- 
prit, gazing  about  him  with  a  mystified  air. 

"You  know  what  you  said,  perfectly,  Valery." 

"When?" 

"At  breakfast." 

"I  said,  poor,  dear  Mamasha," 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  63 

"No,  Valeiy,  you  did  not.  It  is  the  other  adjec- 
tive which  3  oil  used  to  which  I  seriously  object." 

"I  didn't  sa3'  damn,  did  I?  "  asked  Valery,  all  in- 
nocence. 

"  No,  Valery,  you  did  not.  Offensive  as  such  words 
are  to  me,  that  would  have  been  much  less  offensive 
thanwh  at  you  did  sa3^  You  said  'dear  old  Mamasha, 
poor  old  Mamasha. '  I  have  said  before  that  I  dislike 
this  mode  of  address." 

"  Why  !  I  say  'poor  old  Alixe, '  often, "  said  Valery, 
justifying  himself  as  best  he  could,  "  and  I  have  even 
been  known  to  say  '  dear  old  Gartha. 

"  Very  well !  If  they  like  it ;  but  I  must  say  that  I 
do  not." 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  sa,j  '  dear  little  Mamasha,'  or 
'  l)oor  little  Mamasha?  '  " 

"  No,  Valer\',  not  in  the  least.  It  is  the  adjective, 
as  I  told  you,  which  makes  all  the  difference.  Now, 
I  beg  of  you,  remember." 

"I  will  remember,  Mamasha,  certainl.y,"  replied 
her  son-in-law,  as  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  seat  from 
which  she  had  summoned  him.  His  words  were  not 
very  distinguishable,  for  he  was  endeavoring  to  re- 
light his  cigar  by  drawing  upon  the  end  between  his 
lips.  He  repeated,  as  if  learning  a  lesson,  "  The  ad- 
jective must  not  agree  with  the  object  to  whom  it  is 
applied,  or  the  object  will  seriously  disagree  with 
me." 

"Will  you  come  to  my  room,  Alixe?  "  said  Madame 
as  Valery  walked  away. 

"  Had  you  not  better  come  to  mine?  "  returned  Alixe 
in  the  tone  of  one  who  preferred  her  own  vantage 
ground.  Madame,  seeming  vanquished  already,  ac- 
quiesced. 


64  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  That  dreadful  room  with  the  iron  doors ! "  said 
Miss  Spencer,  with  a  becoming  shudder.  "  Have  you 
ever  seen  it,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

Quentin,  who  was  in  no  mood  for  a  morning  tete-a- 
tete  with  Miss  Spencer,  answered  "No"  almost 
shortly,  and  sauntered  away,  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets. He  loitered  about  the  further  end  of  the  terrace 
for  a  half  hour,  talking  with  no  one,  smoking  vio- 
lently, wondering  when  Madame  would  come  to  re- 
deem her  promise  and  show  him  the  ruins,  wonder- 
ing also  whether  she  had  taken  Alixe  away  to  coerce 
her  into  the  Archbishop's  desires.  Finally  Gartha 
came  flying  along  the  esplanade.  She  came  abruptly 
up  to  Quentin. 

"  Mamasha  says  that  she  has  mal  a  la  tete — Ah,  bah ! 
that  French ! — ache  in  the  head,  and  cannot  come  down 
again  this  morning." 

"That  child's  manners  leave  much  to  be  desired," 
remarked  Miss  Spencer  in  an  audible  tone.  Miss 
Spencer  was  making  a  water  color  of  the  Abbey.  She 
had  moved  her  easel  nearer  Quentin 's  end  of  the  ter- 
race. 

"Trees  are  green,  not  blue,"  said  Gartha,  glancing 
over  Miss  Spencer's  shoulder.  Then,  looking  at 
Quentin,  "  Valery  will  come  to  take  you  for  the  fish- 
ing." 

"  I'm  sure  that  it  is  very  kind  of  your  father " 

began  Quentin. 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  shouted  the  Eastaquouere, 
as  he  issued  from  the  little  door  near  the  gate. 

Quentin  remembered  to  have  once  gone  in  New  York 
to  see  a  so-called  "  lightning-change  artist,"  and  as  he 
surveyed  Valery 's  very  appropriate  fishing  costume, 
he  could  not  help  a  feeling  of  wonder  as  to  whether 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY     65 

lie  liad  made  his  fortune  in  that  way.  He  found  his 
new  acquaintance  a  jolly,  good  natured  soul,  with 
plenty  of  Irish  wit,  much  shrewdness,  and  a  genuine 
love  of  sport.  The  talk  was  principally  of  fish  and 
their  habits,  but,  though  the  two  anglers  whipped  the 
stream,  they  found  little  to  reward  their  endeavors. 
The  day  was  too  sunny,  Valery  declared.  The  head- 
ache of  Madame  he  commented  on  freely — too  freely, 
Quentin  thought,  to  an  entire  stranger  like  himself, 
but  these  comments  met  with  no  response  from  him. 
He  could  but  be  amused  at  Valery 's  frankness,  al- 
though he  was  not  of  the  sort  who  discuss  one's  host 
with  comparative  strangers,  or,  in  fact,  with  any  one. 
5 


V. 


A  PAIR  of  hungry  men  entered  the  door  of  the  cha- 
teau as  the  breakfast  bell  clanged  forth  its  grateful 
summons.  It  seemed  to  Quentin  as  he  ran  along 
toward  his  rooms  to  make  himself  presentable  that 
these  people  were  forever  occupied  in  the  business  of 
eating.  He  came  down  to  find  Madame  seated  at  her 
place,  smiling,  but  somewhat  red  about  the  eyes. 
The  guests  came  straggling  along,  one  or  two  at  a 
time.  Alixe  was  in  her  seat  opposite  Madame,  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  table.  Gartha  was  in  hers,  and 
across  from  Gartha  upon  the  right  of  Alixe  sat  a  black 
robed  figure.  It  was  the  priest  whom  Quentin  had 
seen  twice  before  during  his  short  stay,  once  upon  the 
road,  and  again  asleep  in  the  mysterious  little  dress- 
ing room.  The  breakfast  was  but  just  under  way 
when  Valery  came  walking  quickly  from  the  chateau 
along  the  terrace.  He  was,  as  ever,  immaculate,  but 
the  pale  green  waistcoat  had  given  way  to  a  knitted 
one  of  chocolate  and  rose,  the  pink  cravat  to  one  of 
blue,  the  red  shoes  to  shoes  of  tan,  and  the  suit  to  a 
combination  of  white  duck  and  a  light  brown  frock 
coat.  This  was  not  altogether  so  startling  a  costume 
as  the  one  of  the  early  morning,  but  picturesque  in 
its  way. 

"Hola!  Bob,  how  are  you?"  nodded  Valery,  ex- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  67 

tending  his  left  hand  unceremoniously  to  the  priest. 
"  Can't  take  a  meal,  it  seems,  without  some  of  your 
craft  to  bless  the  food.  Had  his  Grace  at  early  break- 
fast." 

The  priest  dropped  Yalery's  hand,  started,  and 
looked  at  Alixe. 

"It  is  true,"  she  said,  "but  he  has  returned  to 
Paris." 

Just  here  there  was  heard  the  sound  of  approach- 
ing wheels  along  the  road  from  the  direction  of  Mon- 
cousis. 

"His  Grace  returning,"  shrieked  Madame,  looking 
at  Alixe  with  a  helpless,  frightened  stare. 

The  priest  started,  and  at  once  stood  up,  holding 
by  the  back  of  his  chair,  turning  his  eyes  undecidedly 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Get  down !  Get  down  behind  the  table !  "  shrilled 
Madame.     "  He  must  not  find  you  here." 

There  was  a  confused  sound  of  voices.  Quentin 
stood  regarding  the  priest  with  interest  to  see  what  he 
would  do.  The  vehicle  drew  up  at  the  gate.  There 
was  a  clang  at  the  bell. 

"Get  down!  Get  down!"  again  excitedly  called 
Madame,  in  a  whisper  that  could  have  been  heard  at 
the  entrance.  "  He  has  only  come  back  for  something 
he  has  forgotten.     He  will  not  stay." 

"Perhaps  he  has  lost  his  train,"  said  Valery. 

"  Alixe,  what  did  I  tell  you?  JV/mt  did  I  tell  you?  " 
tearfully  said  Madame.  "I  expected  exactly  some 
such  thing,  and  after  I  promised!  What  a  contre- 
temps ! " 

Eugene  ran  to  open  the  gate. 

"Down!  Do  you  hear  me?  Robert,  get  down!" 
called  Madame  again. 


68  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  How  I  shall  despise  him, "  thought  Quentin,  "  if 
he  hides  himself  behind  those  women !  " 

The  priest  stood  uncertain,  irresolute,  as  if  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  but  at  a  decided  "  You  will  not 
get  down !  Stand  your  ground !  You  are  my  guest. 
No  one  has  the  right "  from  Alixe,  he  straight- 
ened himself,  and  stood,  pale  and  handsome,  looking 
defiantly  around  him. 

Yalery  had  left  his  chair  and  had  advanced  toward 
the  gate. 

"What  a  commotion  all  about  nothing,"  he  called 
back  to  them.     "It's  only  my  boxes." 

At  these  reassuring  words  Madame  was  herself 
again. 

The  priest  reseated  himself,  and  the  meal  pro- 
gressed, though  not  quite  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  feeling  of  constraint  among  the 
guests,  and  some  of  them  glanced  distrustfully  at 
Father  Halle. 

When  the  long  dejeuner  was  finished,  Madame  took 
Quentin  a  little  apart. 

"I  was  sorry  to  disappoint  you  this  morning,"  said 
she,  "but  I  am  not  feeling  quite  well."  The  pretty 
blue  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Were  you  ever  misun- 
derstood? It  is  dreadful  to  be  misunderstood.  It 
seems  as  if  I  were  forever  being  misunderstood.  Do 
not  misunderstand  me,  my  friend." 

"I  could  not,"  answered  Quentin  fervently,  forget- 
ting everything  for  the  moment  but  the  tearful,  plead- 
ing eyes. 

"  Just  now  in  the  heat  of  the  day  every  one  goes  off 
for  a  siesta.  You  must  go  and  rest  yourself,  my 
friend.  I  will  send  you  some  books  and  La  Nouvelle 
Eevue.     I   must  see  to  the  unpacking  of  Valery's 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY     69 

boxes.  He  is  sure  to  make  a  litter.  They  are  so 
thoiiglitless,  those  wanderers.  Later,  I  will  show  you 
the  ruin.  I  will  send  Charles  to  call  you  at  five,  when 
tea  is  ready." 

Quentin  felt  like  a  bad  child  to  be  sent  off  to  bed  in 
this  way.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  aid  the  Eas- 
taquouere  in  his  unpacking  or  to  do  anything  to  while 
away  the  time,  but  he  had  not  been  invited  to  do  so, 
and  he  thought  it  rather  soon  to  offer  his  services. 
The  various  women  disappeared  within  the  great 
doors  of  the  chateau.  The  men,  most  of  yhom  he 
characterized  in  his  thoughts  as  "popinjays,"  walked 
lazily  off,  their  cigarettes  alight.  He  saw  Mademoi- 
selle pass  along  the  terrace  holding  Gartha's  hand,  a 
pile  of  books  under  her  arm ;  and  he  also  saw  two 
other  figures  vanish  along  the  shaded  walk  of  the 
flower  garden.  They  were  the  two  figures  which  he 
had  seen  on  the  evening  of  his  arrival.  Was  it  only 
the  previous  evening?  He  could  not  have  believed 
that  so  much  could  have  haj^pened  in  so  short  a  time. 
He  turned  away  to  the  seclusion  of  his  rooms,  feeling 
strangely  lonely,  feeling  that  his  visit  had  been  a  mis- 
take perhaps,  and  that  a  convenient  telegram  from 
Paris,  in  answer  to  a  letter  from  himself,  written  that 
evening,  should  take  him  away  as  soon  as  possible. 


YL 


QuENTiN  went  up  the  chalet  stairs.  He  threw  him- 
self lazily  upon  the  low,  old  fashioned  couch.  There 
was  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  Pierre  Monrouge 
with  an  armful  of  books.  Quentin  chose  the  "Pierre 
Nosiere  "  of  Anatole  France,  and  had  soon  forgotten 
his  annoyance  in  those  first  pages  of  the  early  remin- 
iscences of  a  child  of  five  years.  "  Charming !  Charm- 
ing!" he  murmured;  his  eyelids  closed  upon  a  mov- 
ing panorama  of  Noah  and  his  wife,  his  sons  and  their 
wives,  followed  by  all  the  animals  of  the  clan  issuing 
from  the  ark,  the  final  figure  being  Joseph,  who  had 
escaped  from  his  captors  and  was  anachronically 
making  a  low  bow  to  the  patriarch,  and  saying,  "Bon- 
jour,  Monsieur.  Bonjour!  C'est  encore  moi,  Mon- 
sieur. C'est  encore  moi !"  Quentin  awoke  with  a 
start,  to  find  that  Joseph  had  been  metamorphosed 
into  Pierre  Monrouge,  who  was  bowing  low  and  say- 
ing that  "Feefe  o'clock"  was  ready,  and  would  the 
Monsieur  have  the  bonte  to  join  Madame? 

Quentin  made  a  hasty  toilet  and  emerged  upon  the 
terrace,  for  the  twentieth  time,  it  seemed  to  him,  since 
his  arrival.  He  approached  the  long  table  within  the 
recess  underneath  the  chalet,  but  it  was  bare  of  cloth, 
or  porcelain.  He  saw  at  once  that  this  was  not  to 
be  his  objective  point,  and  passed  onward  toward  the 
door  of  the  salon.     The  room  was  empty,  there  was 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY     71 

an  absence  of  sound.     The  whole  place  seemed  de- 
serted. 

He  approached  a  window  and  looked  down  upon 
the  garden  beneath,  and  now  he  thought  that  he  heard 
the  sound  of  far  away  voices.  He  was  not  a  man  to 
seek  for  neglect,  but  surely,  he  thought,  a  little  more 
attention  might  have  been  paid  to  so  utter  a  stranger 
as  himself.  He  wandered  out  of  the  salon  again,  and 
on  to  the  terrace,  hot  with  the  glare  of  the  afternoon 
sun.  As  he  did  so,  Charles  came  out  of  the  little 
door  near  the  gate.  He  was  dressed  in  afternoon 
costume  of  knee  breeches,  white  stockings,  plush 
coat,  etc. ;  he  carried  a  large,  silver  tray,  on  which 
was  an  old-fashioned  tea-service,  and  Eugene,  simi- 
larly metamorphosed,  followed,  with  a  second  tray 
piled  high  with  bread,  butter,  plates,  napkins,  and 
steaming  covered  dishes. 

They  crossed  the  terrace  and  descended  from  sight, 
lost  beneath  an  archway  of  greenery.  Quentin  fol- 
lowed, and  found  that  near  the  corner  of  the  chateau 
and  opposite  the  entrance  door  and  grille,  was  a 
broad  flight  of  stone  steps.  They  were  delightful  old 
steps — the  balustrade  of  stone,  the  rail  of  stone,  but 
so  overgrown  with  vines  as  to  almost  conceal  the  nat- 
ure of  their  material.  Quentin  descended  slowly. 
This  was  a  place  of  surprises.  He  would  loiter  and 
take  it  all  in  as  he  went.  When  he  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  the  steps,  he  found  himself  upon  a  path  so 
overgrown  and  cool  that  it  bore  a  resemblance  to  a 
tunnel  of  closely  growing  vines.  The  flower  garden 
lay  upon  his  right,  the  fields  upon  his  left.  In  the 
perspective,  where  the  white  legs  of  Charles  had  just 
vanished,  he  saw  some  gray  stone  work,  and  an  open- 
ing between  gray  walls,  and  within,  pale  shades  of 


72  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

filmy  stuffs,  of  pink  or  blue  or  white,  passing  and  re- 
passing across  the  opening.  There  was  the  sound  of 
pleasant,  well-bred  laughter.  A  bit  of  verse  came  into 
his  mind  which  caused  him  to  smile  at  his  own  gratu- 
itous estimate  of  people  whom  he  scarcely  knew: 

"And  their  voices  low  with  fashion,  not  with  feeling,  softly 
freighted 
All  the  air  about  the  windows  with  elastic  laughter  sweet." 

Quentin  took  a  few  steps  forward,  emerged  from 
the  tunnel  of  green,  and  found  himself  standing  be- 
tween four  gray  walls,  whose  ruined  arches  and  pillars 
upheld  no  roof-tree.  The  Abbey  church  was  open  to 
the  sky.  Great  oaks,  which  had  grown  for  genera- 
tions in  the  centre  of  this  delicious  spot,  proved  by 
their  presence  how  ancient  the  building  must  be,  since 
they  could  not  have  sprouted  until  years  after  the 
place  had  been  given  over  to  decaj^,  and  the  roof  had 
fallen  in  from  disuse  and  neglect. 

The  contrast  between  the  rugged  old  ruin  and  the 
modern  butterflies  disporting  themselves  therein 
struck  Quentin  with  a  sort  of  incongruous  pictur- 
esqueness.  The  picture  overbalanced  the  incongruity 
within  his  mind,  and,  as  he  came  forward,  his  good 
nature  quite  restored,  through  his  delight  in  the  scene, 
he  unconsciously  murmured  again:  "Charming! 
Charming ! " 

Madame  was  seated  at  a  large  rustic  table  before 
the  tray  which  the  jjlush-coated  Charles  had  just  de- 
posited. Eugene  had  likewise  set  down  his  burden 
and  both  men,  with  the  dexterity  which  accompanies 
long-accustomed  service,  were  arranging  the  table  to 
suit  Madame' s  convenience  and  wishes.  The  guests 
were  seated  here  and  there,  either  on  low  growing 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  73 

branches,  or  about  in  nooks  and  corners  upon  great 
blocks  of  the  old  ruin,  which  had  fallen  from  their 
places,  perhaps  generations  ago,  to  thus  be  utilized, 
some  persons  might  say  desecrated,  in  this  mundane 
end  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

"Welcome!  Welcome!"  cried  Madame  gayly  to 
Quentin.  "  Come  over  here  by  me.  I  have  hardly 
seen  you.     You  have  hidden  j^ourself  away  so." 

Quentin  smiled  broadly  at  these  words,  for  he  had 
simply  followed  Madame 's  orders. 

"  People  certainly  take  their  own  way  of  amusing 
themselves  at  the  Abbey,"  said  Miss  Spencer. 
"Where  have  you  been  all  day,  Mr. — Mr. " 

"Quentin.  Mr.  Quentin,"  supplied  Madame.  "I 
thought  I  introduced  you  this —  Do  you  take  sugar, 
Baroness?     I  always  forget " 

"Fishing  all  the  morning,"  laughed  Quentin,  cast- 
ing sleepy  eyes  downward,  "  and  sleeping  all  the  after- 
noon." 

"  Why !"  exclaimed  Miss  Spencer,  with  a  catch  in 
her  breath.     "Didn't  you  sleep  well  last  night?  " 

"Perfectly  well,"  Quentin  replied,  "but  I  have  been 
travelling  more  or  less  uncomfortably,  and  perhaps 
the  change  to  this  pure  air " 

"  And  why  should  not  Mr.  Quentin  sleep  well,  Ada 
Spencer?  "  asked  Madame,  impatiently. 

"He  should,  he  should,  dear  Madame,"  replied 
Miss  Spencer,  hastily;  and  then,  changing  the  sub- 
ject, "  the  Baroness  and  I  have  been  sketching  all  the 
morning.  We  could  not  leave  to  come  home,  the 
light  was  so  delicious,  so  we  took  some  milk  at  a  farm 
house.  We  got  home  in  time  only  to  dress.  See  how 
sunburned  I  am.  The  Baroness  is  a  fright,"  she 
added,  with  that  disregard  of  the  dependent  friend. 


74  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

titled  or  untitled,  which  is  a  characteristic  of  modern 
society. 

"  Yalery  says  you  improve  on  Nature, "  remarked 
Gartha,  who  was  everywhere  as  usual. 

"  Yes,  we  sometimes  improve  on  Nature, "  answered 
Miss  Spencer,  unsuspiciously.  "  Change  the  growth 
of  a  limb,  a  branch  or  twig,  to  show  what's  beyond." 

"Yalery  says  that  Nature  is  never  out  of  drawing." 
Gartha  emphasized  the  noun.  Miss  Spencer  red- 
dened suddenly,  and  clicked  her  teeth  together. 

"To  be  caught  by  an  odious  child  like  that,"  she 
murmured  to  the  Baroness.  Then  again  quickly 
changed  her  topic. 

"I  purn  ret,"  remarked  the  Baroness  humbly. 
"Not?"  with  a  look  around  at  the  company  gener- 
ally. 

"Yes,  that's  the  trouble,"  remarked  Miss  Spencer. 

"And  you  peel.  Baroness,"  asked  Gartha. 

"But  a  little  color  makes  you,  if  that  were  possible, 
only  the  more  attractive,  Baroness,"  Yalery  hastened 
to  say,  with  a  cross  shake  of  the  head  at  Gartha. 

"And  you  won't  peel  until  to-morrow,"  laughed 
Miss  Spencer. 

"Do  you  never  do  anything  but  eat  in  this  house?  " 
asked,  Quentin  of  Madame. 

"We  do  many  things,  as  you  have  just  heard,"  an- 
swered Madame,  looking  brightly  up  at  her  friend. 
"  Some  more  cakes,  Charles,  and  another  pitcher  of 
cream.     Some  jam,  Mary  Thorndyke?" 

"It's  very  fattening,"  said  Gartha. 

This  parenthetical  remark  had  its  effect.  Miss 
Thorndyke  withdrew  a  plump,  outstretched  hand, 
and  reddened  unpleasantly.  Her  girth  was  increas- 
ing daily  in  this  land  of  plenty. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  75 

"  Lord  Eldon  said  that  Mamasha  fattened  them  for 
the  marche — the  market,  I  mean,"  said  Gartha,  look- 
ing straight  at  Miss  Thorndyke. 

"I  don't  see  why  Madame  lets  that  child  come  to 
five  o'clock  and  everything  else  with  the  grown  ups," 
murmured  the  victim  sotto  voce  to  the  Baroness. 
The  Baroness  gave  her  a  fellow-feeling  glance. 

"Gartha,"  said  Valery,  "if  you  speak  again,  I  will 
send  you  to  do  some  more  lessons.  Mademoiselle,  I 
thought  you  were  teaching  her  manners." 

Valery  had  difficulty  in  enunciating  this  sentence, 
as  Gartha  had  clasped  him  round  his  neck  so  tightly 
that  he  was  almost  breathless. 

"  Eet  ees  imposb'  to  teach  that  chile  any  thin'  so 
spoil  ees  she,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"He  said "  continued  Gartha,   unsilenced  by 

threats. 

"Who  said?" 

"  You  ought  to  know,  Mamasha.  Lord  Eldon.  He 
said " 

Madame  glanced  at  Quentin,  reddened,  and  looked 
down. 

"  That  there  was  a  new  reading  to  '  This  little  pig 
went  to  market. '  He  used  to  play  it  with  my  fingers, 
so."  Gartha  took  her  father's  large  brown  hand  be- 
tween her  own  little  ones.  "He  said  it  went  this 
way— 

"  *  This  little  pig  went  to  market, 

" '  And  this  little  pig  tagged  along, 

" '  And  this  little  pig  got  pearls  and  emeralds, 

" '  And  this  little  pig  got  houses  and  estates, 
"'And  this  little  pig  got  all  kicks  and  no  half- 
pence;'—Valery,  dear,  what  are  you  doing?     Give 
me  your  other  hand, — 


76  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

" '  And  this  little  pig  got  a  mauvais  sujet  of  a  hus- 
band, 

" '  And  this  little  pig  was  sent  home  to  her 
mother, 

" '  But  still  all  the  little  society  pigs  went  to  mar- 
ket.' What  is  a  mauvais  sujet  of  a  husband,  Papa- 
chen?  That  is  a  word  that  has  never  been  ex-ex- 
plique. " 

"  You  are  too  young  to  be  talking  about  husbands, 
child !  All  the  same,  no  one  will  ever  give  you  kicks 
and  no  ha'pence,  because  I  shall  see  to  it  that  all  the 
ha'pence  will  be  yours;  consequently  there  will  be  no 
kicks." 

"  Valery,  how  can  you  talk  to  the  child  so?  " 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  be  kicked,"  said  Gartha,  "but 
you  can't  buy  much  for  a  half  a  penny.  I  should  not 
think  that  even  a  franc  would  buy  much." 

"Eet  vele  not  puy  a  husban'.  I  know  that  much," 
said  the  Baroness,  with  a  swift  look  at  her  own  faded 
gown,  and  a  reminiscent  glance  at  her  dissipated  fort- 
une. 

"  They  come  dear,  husbands ! "  said  Valerj',  see- 
ing in  imagination  the  Baron  sitting  in  front  of  Max- 
im's, drinking  his  accustomed  glass  of  absinthe,  and 
looking  through  his  monocle  after  such  of  the  femi- 
nine passers-by  as  glanced  alluringly  at  him. 

"  Mademoiselle,  why  do  you  allow  Gartha  to  talk 
so  much?  "  asked  Madame,  as  she  put  a  lump  of  sugar 
into  Quentin's  cup. 

"  I  could  do  something  with  that  chile  if  I  had  con- 
trol excluseeve,"  Mademoiselle  sniffed  resentfully  as 
she  glanced  toward  Alixe,  who  had  at  that  moment 
entered  the  farther  opening  into  the  ruins.  The 
priest  followed  her.     She  still  wore  her  dress  of  the 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  77 

morning,  and  upon  her  head  was  the  white  Russian 
hat.  Her  hair  was  carelessly  loose  about  her  ears, 
the  silver  combs  holding  it  in  place.  If  ever  a  human 
being  appeared  to  be  utterly  oblivious  of  concern  in 
her  personal  appearance,  it  was  this  tall  young  wom- 
an whom  they  called  Alixe. 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  make  Alixe  think  a  little  more 
of  her  dress,"  whispered  Madame  in  a  loud  aside. 
"  There  are  her  closets  full  of " 

Gartha  arose  and  met  Alixe  half  way  and  repeated 
all  the  words  that  she  had  taken  time  to  hear. 

"I  will  remember  what  Mamasha  say  s, "  said  Alixe ; 
"she  is  perfectly  right." 

At  this  snub  from  her  beloved  Alixe  Gartha  sub- 
sided for  a  time. 

"  And  clothes  are  so  abnormally  cheap  and  pretty 
now-a-days,"  said  Miss  Spencer  in  an  undertone  to 
the  Baroness ;  "  if  one  knows  where  to  go,  Paris  is 
really  a  very  economical  place  to  shop  in." 

"I  never  haf  find  eet  so,"  sighed  the  Baroness, 
smoothing  down  an  old  black  silk  skirt  which  had 
seen  many  a  better  day,  and  recalling  a  tailor  bill 
which  had  come  to  the  Baron  the  previous  week. 

"  I  wonder  what  Alixe  does  with  all  her  old  clothes," 
said  Miss  Thorndyke  in  an  undertone  to  Miss  Spen- 
cer. 

"  She  has  never  has  any  *  old  clothes, '  "  returned 
Miss  Spencer,  "  because  she  never  has  any  new  ones. 
A  thing  can't  be  old  before  it  has  existed  at  all.  Now 
Mamasha  always  wears  good  clothes.  There  is  great 
moral  support  in  good  clothes." 

Miss  Thorndyke  surveyed  the  subject  of  these  re- 
marks critically. 

"Old  as  they  are,"  she  said,  "they  have  a  style  of 


78  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

their  own,  and  she  has  a  certain  way  of  wearing  them ; 
I  wish  I  had  it.  It's  something  that  belongs  to  her. 
But  she  has  splendid  things,  Ada  Spencer.  I  have 
seen  them ;  Madame  showed  them  to  me.  Closet  after 
closet  full.     Madame  herself  orders  them,  I  believe." 

"  Alixe,  do  take  off  that  ridiculous  old  hat,"  called 
Madame. 

Alixe  laughed  and  showed  her  teeth.  She  took  the 
hat  from  her  head. 

"  Mercy  !  Put  it  on  again,  do ! "  said  Madame  has- 
tily, discovering  suddenly  the  lovely  disorder  of  the 
light  chestnut  hair  and  its  picturesque  effect. 

"She  wears  it,"  whispered  Miss  Spencer  to  Quen- 
tin,  "  because  some  artist  said  that  it  looked  like  a 
halo.     He  painted  her  face  for  la  Sainte  Yierge." 

"He  stole  it,"  said  Gartha,  who  was  always  hearing 
what  she  should  not,  "  and  put  it  on  that  figure  of 
Marie  Monrouge  that  stood  for  the  Sainte  Vierge. 
Alixe  said  it  was  des,  des — well,  something.  She 
doesn't  paint  her  face,"  continued  Gartha,  looking 
steadily  at  Miss  Spencer.  "Yalery  says  that  you 
decorate.  What  do  you  decorate,  the  hotels  or  les 
apartements?  "  Gartha  spoke,  with  the  French  pro- 
nunciation. 

Some  natural  color  was  added  to  the  imitation,  if 
imitation  there  were,  as  Miss  Spencer  took  up  her 
parasol  and  moved  languidly  away.  "  Shall  I  show 
you  the  ruins,  Mr.  Quentin?  "  she  asked.  Quentin 
looked  at  Madame. 

"Go  with  her,"  said  his  hostess,  with  a  resigned 
sigh.     "I  must  fill  these  yawning  voids." 

"  You  seem  to  keep  a  sort  of  sublimated  pension," 
commented  Quentin,  smiling  at  the  labor  Madame 
made  of  what  she  delighted  in. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  79 

"Yes,  isn't  it?  "  As  Madame  poured  out  more  tea, 
she  sighed  as  if  life  were  not  worth  living. 

"  When  the}^  have  all  eaten  and  drank  their  fill,  I 
will  take  you  to  see  the  men  above  the  farmyard  gate." 

"  Oh,  ze  dear  tzin  mans !  ze  dear  fat  mans  !  I  know 
not  vich  I  lofe  ze  better  of  zoze  mans ! "  exclaimed  the 
Baroness,  enthusiasticalb  . 


YQ. 


QuENTiN  passed  along  tlie  gravelled  interior  of  tlie 
Abbey  cliurcb,  keeping  pace  with  Miss  Spencer's  high 
heeled  walk  and  the  rustle  of  her  silk-lined  muslin. 
He  heard,  while  he  did  not  listen  to  the  words, 
"  Twelfth  century.  The  earliest  records  are  of  eleven 
hundred  and  fifty.  The  Abbey,  instead  of  being,  as 
at  present,  so  practically  remote  from  the  Convent 
proper,  was  in  those  days  connected  with  it  by  other 
buildings,  at  least  so  the  Archbishop  told  us  only  last 
evening  after  you  left  the  salon.  There  is  a  book 
about  it.  He  played  billiards  with  me  for  an  hour  or 
more.  The  dear  Archbishop !  He  is  so  charming, 
so  human,  so  secular,  so  tolerant  of  the  frailties  of 
humanity.  I  love  a  secular  prelate,  don't  you,  Mr. 
Quentin?  This  place  itself  was  secular  enough  at  one 
time.  I  suppose  you  have  heard,  when  the  fourteenth 
or  fifteenth  Abbess  took  the  crosse  abbatiale." 

"Did  she  wear  her  croix  abbatiale  as  Alixe — 
as "  Quentin  stopped  short  in  what  he  was  say- 
ing. He  stammered  confusedly.  "  I  should  ask  her 
pardon,"  said  he.  "But  I  have  never  known  any 
other  name  by  which  to  call  her.  It  came  out  before 
I  thought.     I " 

"One  would  think  you  had  been  here  a  year," 
laughed  Miss  Spencer.  "  Never  known  her  by  any 
other  name ! "  she  quoted  back  at  him. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  81 

"  Madame  has  never  told  me.  In  fact,  she  never 
mentioned  her.  I  know  that  her  name  is  Alixe,  and 
that  Gartha  is  her  niece ;  more  than  this " 

"  Odious  child !  "  interrupted  Miss  Spencer,  with  a 
backward  glance  at  Gartha. 

"  I  know  that  Valery  is  her  brother-in-law,  and  Ma- 
dame her  aunt." 

"Has  she  told  you  that?  "  laughed  Miss  Spencer, 
evidently  much  amused  at  something  in  her  own 
thoughts.  "As  you  see,  she  gives  succor  and  com- 
fort to  a  holy  priest,  who  is  no  better  than  he  should 
be.  His  Grace  warned  her  about  him.  I  wonder  if 
be  knows  how  madly  in  love  Halle  is  with  her " 

"  A  priest  in  love !  I  am  not  of  his  church,  but  I 
must  confess  that  such  a  suggestion  seems  too  sacri- 
legious; too " 

"He  is  but  a  man,  after  all,"  said  Miss  Spencer. 

"  Yes,  but  not  as  other  men  are.  At  least  he  should 
not  be ;  he " 

"  But  if  she  leads  him  on.  She  is  awfully  rich ; 
she  can  do  as  she  likes.  Everything  is  forgiven  a 
rich  woman.  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  know  that 
riches  mean  exemption  from  criticism.  What  im- 
mense independence  there  is  in  wealth,  abnormal 
wealth.  Every  one  runs  after  you,  even  the  church 
condones  your  misdemeanors." 

"  I  should  not  think  the  word  misdemeanor  applic- 
able here,"  said  Queutin. 

"  Look  there !  "  returned  his  companion.  Quentin 
raised  his  eyes  again  toward  the  two  figures  stand- 
ing just  within  the  doorway  whither  they  had  with- 
drawn. The  words  they  said  were  not  distinguish- 
able. Had  they  been,  Quentin  would  have  heard  the 
priest  say: 
6 


82  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Can  I  trust  you? "  He  saw,  however,  tlie anxious 
look  in  tlie  deep,  hollow  eyes. 

"Certainly,"  replied  his  companion.  "Have  you 
not  always?  "  Quentin  saw  that  Halle  bent  down- 
ward. He  took  within  his  hand  the  large  crucifix  of 
silver  which  depended  from  the  string  of  beads  encir- 
cling her  slim  waist.  The  cross  was  studded  with 
amethysts  and  shone  a  glorious  mass  of  color  in  the 
sunshine. 

"Kiss  the  cross,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  Eobert!"  said  she.  "Not  here!  Not  now! 
Is  not  my  word  enough?  " 

Halle's  eyes  shone  with  a  wild  light  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Alixe  gravely.  She  moved 
a  little  outside  of  the  ruin,  thus  screening  herself 
from  view.  She  took  the  cross  in  her  hands,  and, 
looking  upward,  pressed  the  shining  metal  to  her 
lips.     Halle  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

Alixe  answered  the  smile  with  the  words,  "  Not  as  a 
daughter  of  the  church,  Eobert,  but  in  memory  of 
Virginia  Danielli."  Halle  shuddered  and  ceased  to 
smile.     "  That  is  no  oath.     It  is  not  binding, "  he  said. 

"  I  need  take  no  oath  to  be  true  to  a  friend.  Have 
I  ever  broken  a  promise?  Virginia,  good  Catholic 
that  she  is,  when  she  left  me  did  not  ask  me  to  take 
an  oath  that  I  would  be  faithful  to  her.  Why  should 
you?" 

They  moved  again  within  the  walls. 

"  Those  churchly  flirtations  are  charming  to  watch," 
remarked  Miss  Spencer  to  Quentin.  "A  sort  of 
Abelard  and  Heloise  affair.  There  is  no  danger  on 
either  side,  and  one  may  go  almost  to  the  verge  of 
prudence  and  not " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  83 

"I  liate  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,"  said  Quentin. 
Miss  Spencer  looked  up  with  interest. 

"You  amaze  me!"  she  said.  "Is  it  because  you 
dislike  to  feel  that  the  innocent  dew  of  youthful  charm 
is  being  brushed  from  the  virginal  soil,  or  because 
you  don't  wish  to  acknowledge  that  a  pure  soul  has 
been  already  smirched?" 

"  I  hate  to  hear  a  wqman  talk  as  you  do  about  an- 
other woman,"  said  Quentin,  with  impatience. 

"  But  if  it  is  true !  You  can  see  for  yourself.  Did 
you  see  her  kiss  that  cross  just  now?  No?  I  can 
see  them  better  from  here.  Alixe  has  no  reason  to 
kiss  that  cross.  She  is  the  most  determined  little 
Protestant  you  can  find  in  France.  She  only  did  it 
for  effect.  Mamasha  and  the  Archbishop  are  ham- 
mering awr.y  at  her  all  the  time.  She  is  a  stone  that 
no  continual  dropping  will  ever  wear  away." 

Miss  Spencer  subsided  upon  a  moss  covered  rock 
which  had  fallen  from  the  roof-tree  in  some  dead  cen- 
tury.    She  drew  aside  her  pink  silk  and  muslin. 

Quentin  could  not  resist  complying  with  this  invit- 
ing gesture.  He  felt  that  he  was  about  to  learn  some- 
thing of  the  Abbey,  and  he  was  not  willing  to  lose 
the  opportunity.  Miss  Spencer  talked  and  talked, 
and  as  she  talked  she  drew  little  curves  and  diamonds 
in  the  gravel  with  her  parasol  at  the  tip  of  her  pointed 
shoe. 

"  Alixe  is  one  of  the  richest  women  in  France,  I  be- 
lieve, or  she  was  wlion  Bruno  married  her " 

"Married  her?     Then  she  is  married?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed !     First,  there  is  this  Abbey " 

"Then  this  is  not  the  home  of  Madame  Pe- 
trofsky " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Alixe  gives  her  a  home  here !     Mamasha 


84  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

will  sponge  on  anybody.  Then  there  is  that  splendid 
place  in  the  Pyrenees,  but  seems  to  me  I  have  heard 
that  she  had  to  sell  that  to  pay  Bruno's  debts.  Then 
there  is  the  villa  on  the  Eiviera,  Cannes  or  Mentone, 
or  somewhere,  I  don't  know.  I've  never  been  there. 
Then  she  had  a  charming  hotel  in  the  Champs  Elysees, 
where  Bruno  used  to  give  his  orgies,  and  a  seaside 
place  somewhere  or  other,  and  money  in  all  the  banks 
in  the  world.  She  is  a  very  wealthy  woman,  our 
Duchess ! " 

"  Those  things  are  always  exaggerated,"  said  Quen- 
tin,  with  a  strange  sinking  of  the  heart.  "  And  where, 
then,  is  the  Duke?  " 

"The  Duke?  Mercy  on  me!  Hasn't  Mamasha 
enlightened  you?  I  don't  wonder.  It  was  all  her 
doing.  Mamasha  hawked  those  girls  about  to  half 
the  capitals  of  Europe.  Alixe  was  only  seventeen. 
The  old  Duke  fell  dead  just  as  he  had  signed  his 
name  in  the  marriage  register.  Just  think  how  lucky 
'for  Alixe !  and  how  near  a  thing  it  was !  He  had 
made  his  will  in  her  favour  and  all.  Mamasha  fol- 
lows the  English  custom,"  continued  Miss  Spencer. 
"Perhaps,  after  all,  it's  proper,  as  all  she  has  came 
from  the  Duke.  You  know  in  my  country  once  a 
duchess,  always  a  duchess,  unless,  indeed,  there  is  a 
higher  title  which  one  may  claim;  that's  a  custom 
which " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Quentin.     "I  have  just  been 

staying  with  the "  and  he    mentioned  the  well 

known  name  of  a  titled  lady  who  had  been  for  a 
fortnight  past  his  hostess;  her  husband,  plain  Mr. 
Blank. 

"Do  you  stay  there?'*  exclaimed  Miss  Spencer, 
breathless  at  the  honor  heaped  upon  this  great  un- 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY     85 

known  whom  she  had  simply  thought  one  of  Ma- 
dame's  doubtful  discoveries.  "  Why,  how  did  you 
get  to  know  them?  You  Americans  seem  to  go  every- 
where now-a-days.     You " 

"Then  she  is  a  widow,  that  young  creature,'' re- 
sumed Quentin,  raising  his  eyes  with  renewed  interest 
and  ignoring  Miss  Spencer's  personalities. 

"  She  was,  till  Mamasha  married  her  to  Bruno,  but 
it's  all  hers — Alixe,  I  mean.  That  spiteful  old  cat  is 
only  here  on  sufTerance.  How  Alixe  allows  her  to 
usurp  all  her  prerogatives  I  can't  see.  How  I  should 
lord  it  over  her ! " 

Quentin  was  so  deeply  interested  in  this  new  his- 
tory that  he  forgot  to  be  resentful  at  the  strictures 
upon  his  friend  Madame. 

"  I  believe  there  was  a  castle  in  Italy,  too.  He  was 
an  Italian,  the  Duke.  Bruno  is  a  Spaniard.  He  was 
a  dreadful  old  man,  the  Duke,  a  thousand  years  old, 
more  or  less,  and  with  a  hundred  pasts.  Mamasha 
knew  how  to  manage."  Miss  Spencer  glanced  at  her 
listener  in  an  insinuating  manner. 

"Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  Madame  gave  the 
Duke  as  he  went  to  the  altar  a  surreptitious  dose  of 
poison  warranted  to  kill  just  after  the  blessing  ?  " 
laughed  Quentin. 

"  Oh,  no !  No  one  ever  accused  Mamasha  of  that." 
There  was  an  emphasis  on  the  final  word  as  if  un- 
known depths  of  infamy  might  be  revealed  did  Miss 
Spencer  think  it  worth  her  while.  "  She  intended  to 
put  up  with  her  son-in-law  until  he  was  gathered  to 
his  long  line  of  titled  and  disreputable  fathers ;  in 
fact,  she  was  ready  to  gather  him  to  her  own  youthful 
bosom.  I  don't  know  but  Mamasha  would  have  been 
the  Duchess  to-day,  if,  when  he  came  to  see  her,  he 


86     THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

had  not  seen  Alixe  by  accident.  They  were  living  in 
Paris  then  in  a  little  hugger-mugger  apartment — in  a 
fashionable  quarter  enough,  though ;  Mamasha  would 
have  gilt  chairs  if  she  ate  meat  only  on  Sundays. 
Alixe,  as  I  told  you,  was  barely  seventeen.  She  is 
just  twenty  this  month.  She  had  no  more  idea  what 
marriage  meant  than  I  have  this  minute. "  Miss  Spen- 
cer looked  down  with  a  mature  smile  of  embarrass- 
ment. 

"This  is  a  strange  revelation  to  me,"  said  Quentin 
slowly.     "But  then " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Quentin,  that  you  came 
to  visit  Alixe  knowing  no  more  about " 

"lam  Madame  Petrofsky's  guest,"  said  Quentin, 
"  and  that  should  have  prevented  my  listening  to " 

"But  it  is  no  secret.  I  am  saying  no  harm,"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Spencer  hurriedly,  wishing  to  disclaim 
to  this  good-looking  stranger  any  wish  to  gossip  about 
her  hosts.  "  Mamasha  probably  thinks  you  know  all 
about  it.  Her  old  friends  were  frightfully  angry  at 
Mamasha  for  marrying  Alixe  to  Bruno.  He  was  her 
cousin,  you  know.  Alixe  had  lent  him  loads  of 
money.  He  got  into  several  scrapes  and  lawsuits  of 
one  kind  or  another,  and  Alixe  paid  his  debts.  They 
were  enormous  debts.  Colossal !  He  wheedles  Alixe 
now  out  of  her  money,  outrageously  !  He  used  to  be 
Mamasha's  favorite  nephew,  but  I  imagine  that  since 
she  has  succeeded  in  marrying  him  to  Alixe,  and  he 
has  really  more  right  to  her  property  than  formerly, 
she  is  sorry  every  day  of  her  life.  Alixe  doesn't  care 
a  fig  for  money,  and  Bruno  is  always  experimenting. 
He  says  they  fascinate  him — his  experiments " 

"  But  I  cannot  understand  when  his  wife  has  so 
much  why  he  needs — ■ — " 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  87 

"  Yes,  that's  what  every  one  says !  I  asked  Mamasha 
that  same  question  the  other  day,  and  she  said  that 
poor  Bruno  had  never  done  anything  but  spend  money, 
first  his  own  fortune,  then  all  that  he  could  borrow 
from  Alixe,  That  he  felt  that  Alixe  despised  him, 
and  that  now  he  meant  to  set  himself  right  in  her 
eyes.  If  there  is  one  creature  whom  Bruno  adores 
on  the  face  of  this  earth,  it  is  Alixe;  that  is,  next  to 
himself.  He  wants  to  show  her,  Mamasha  says,  that 
he  can  add  something  to  the  general  fund.  She  smiles 
and  lets  him  have  his  way,  but  even  a  fortune  like  the 
Duca  di  Brazzia's  will  not  stand  such  a  strain  as  that; 
besides,  how  absurd  to  spend  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  to  make  twenty  thousand;  but  Bruno  thinks 
that  it  rehabilitates  him  in  Alixe's  eyes. "  Miss  Spen- 
cer's breath  had  failed. 

"A  strange  way  to  increase  one's  fortune,"  said 
Quentin;    "sending  good  money  after  bad." 

"  Well,  Mamasha  argues  alternately  on  Bruno's 
side,  and  then  on  her  own ;  never  on  the  side  of  Alixe ; 
that  you  will  see  as  time  goes  on.  She  says  that  these 
investments  of  Bruno's  will  be  permanent,  and  that 
the  inventions  will  bring  him  in,  for  every  fifty  thou- 
sand that  he  now  spends,  certainly  a  hundred  and 
fifty.  He  tells  her  that,  of  course,  and  she  believes 
it,  or  pretends  to.  How  does  any  one  know  that  he 
isn't  just  spending  the  principal?  " 

"This  is  all  very  interesting,"  remarked  Quentin. 
"I  don't  know  that  I  ought " 

"  Don't  have  scruples,"  said  Miss  Spencer.  "  I  hate 
a  man  with  scruples.  Mamasha  will  tell  you.  She 
always  confides  in  the  last  new  man.  She  only  hasn't 
had  time  yet." 

"The  last  new  man,"  repeated  Quentin  to  himself 


88  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

with  anything  but  a  satisfied  feeling.  Was  that  what 
he  was?  The  last  new  man?  He  was  getting  new 
side-lights  on  Madame 's  character,  but  he  told  him- 
self as  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  that 
he  must  consider  their  source,  and,  though  Miss  Spen- 
cer might  intend  to  be  truthful,  there  was,  he  felt  cer- 
tain, a  modicum  of  spite  mixed  with  her  frankness  of 
speech. 

Quentin  arose.  Miss  Spencer,  having  captured  the 
most  distinguished  looking  man  who  had  been  seen  at 
the  Abbey  for  many  a  day,  arose  also,  but  slowly. 
She  would  have  to  relinquish  him  soon  enough.  Let 
her  hold  him  while  she  might. 

"  Although  Alixe  is  a  Protestant,  she  is  educated  to 
death,  and,  strange  to  say,  was  educated  in  a  convent. 
I  believe  that  she  used  to  help  Bruno  with  his  chem- 
icals, but  he  doesn't  allow  her  to  any  more.  He  says 
he  has  got  beyond  her — that " 

"Help  Bruno?    You  mean " 

"Yes,  St.  Aubin,  with  his  experiments.  Thank 
heaven,  he  is  away  at  present.  Every  one  flees  when 
they  hear  the  wheels  of  his  chariot  approaching.  If 
he  were  here,  I  should  be  sorry  for  you,  as  I  be- 
lieve you  sleep  in  the  chalet.  That  is  where  all 
the " 

"  Ada !    Ada  Spencer !     Come  here ! " 

"Isn't  it  dangerous  for  her  to — help  him  with " 

"  Come,  Ada !  Come !  Don't  you  hear?  We  want 
to  see  the  statues  before  the  sun  goes  down." 

"  Mamasha  has  claimed  you  for  her  own, "  said  Miss 
Spencer,  walking  slowly  before  Quentin  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Madame.  "Dangerous?  To  be  sure,  it  is 
very  dangerous.     They  had  one  explosion- " 

"What  a  wonderful  thing  that  is,"  said  Quentin, 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY     89 

musingly,  apparently  forgetful  of  her  company,  "  that 
cross  of  amethysts?  " 

"La  Crosse  Abbatiale,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  with 
that  extreme  French  accent  which  no  Frenchman  born 
could  understand.  "The  one  Alixe  carries?  She  is 
the  Abbess  of  Bref,  you  know." 

They  were  approaching  Madame,  who  strained  her 
ears  to  catch  Miss  Spencer's  lightest  word,  as  an  in- 
dication what  the  trend  of  the  conversation  had  been. 
"Alixe  has  no  crosier,  Ada,"  called  Madame.  "La 
Croix  Abbatiale  if  you  will — Virginia  Danielli's 
splendid  gift;  but  what  a  fuss  you  make  over 
Alixe's " 

Gartha  interrupted,  running  to  Quentin,  taking  his 
hand  in  hers  and  jumping  up  and  down. 

"Come,  Mr.  Quentin.  Don't  you  hear  Mamasha 
calling  you  ?  She  is  very  much  genee  with  you.  She 
says  Ada  Spencer  never  knows  when  to  let  a  man " 

"  Mr.  Quentin  has  been  at  liberty  for  at  least  twenty 
minutes,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  coloring  hotly  as  he  ap- 
proached Madame.  "Mamasha,"  she  said  aloud, 
"you  should  either  refrain  from  comment  upon 
your  guests,  or  you  should  send  Gartha  to  the 
nursery." 

"  Oh,  come,  come,  Ada !  "  said  Madame  in  a  coax- 
ing tone  to  the  plain-spoken  young  woman.  "  Gartha 
makes  all  the  trouble  in  this  house.  I  have  scarcely 
seen  Mr.  Quentin,  and  he  is  my  guest,  you  know." 

At  Madame 's  summons  they  followed  the  varie- 
gated stream  of  humanity  out  under  the  ragged  arch- 
way and  up  through  the  tunnel  of  green.  Quentin, 
with  no  volition  on  his  part,  found  Madame  leaning 
upon  him,  her  hand  pushed  through  the  bend  of  his 
arm,  while  Miss  Spencer  walked  on  before  with  Made- 


90  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

moiselle.  Gartlia  had  not  relinquished  Quentin's 
hand. 

"Et  votre  pere,  oiiest-il,  Garta?"  inquired  Made- 
moiselle. 

"She  has  her  eye  on  Valery,"  whispered  Madame 
to  Quentin.  "  I  suppose  we  must  get  rid  of  her  soon, 
as  we  have  had  to  of  the  others." 

"He  not,  is  not  going  to  come,"  said  Gartha,  in 
purposely  garbled  English. 

"  Garta !  Garta ! "  screamed  Mademoiselle  in 
English.  "  How  often  have  I  told  you  that  you  must 
not  translate  literally  from  the  French  into  the  Eng- 
lish.    That  double  negative  is  only  used " 

"  I  must, "  said  Gartha,  decidedly,  still  speaking 
English.     "  I  must  translate  to  the  foot  of  the  letter." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  so  tirzome  a  chilt?  "  asked  Made- 
moiselle, turning  back  toward  Quentin. 

"She  says  that  we  spoil  her,"  commented  Madame 
in  an  undertone,  "  and  so  we  do,  I  suppose,  but  she 
herself  encourages  it.  I  believe  that  she  really  loves 
that  child,  badly  as  Gartha  treats  her,  and  she  is  well 
aware  that  the  Abbey  is  not  a  bad  resting  place  for 
the  summer." 

"  Nor  for  a  lifetime, "  said  Quentin,  looking  down 
upon  her,  and  throwing  a  fervour  into  his  tone,  why 
he  knew  not,  which  brought  to  Madame 's  cheek  a 
deeper  flush. 

The  procession  had  now  reached  the  lower  of  the 
stone  steps.  Quentin  saw  rising  ahead  of  him  a 
stream  of  pretty  pale  colors.  He  heard  the  hum  of 
sweet  voices.  The  place  was  alive  with  everyday- 
ness  and  matter-of-fact-ness,  with  a  little  of  the  world 
and  its  fashion  thrown  in.  As  they  issued  from  the 
ruin,  they  had  left  behind  them  the  mystery  of  the 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY     91 

place.  Quentin  was  absorbed  and  fascinated  with  the 
variety  of  it  all. 

They  crossed  the  terrace,  this  mass  of  bright  plum- 
age. Eugene  unlocked  the  grille,  and  then  threw  open 
the  door  in  the  wall.  Gartha  was  again  jumping  up 
and  down  and  pulling  atQuentin's  hand  like  a  young 
colt  at  the  halter.  Mademoiselle  and  Miss  Spencer 
had  dropped  behind,  and  now  Mademoiselle  came 
running  after  them,  breathlessly  exclaiming  in  volu- 
ble French : 

"  Garta !  Garta !  You  cannot  go !  You  will  spoil 
your  shoes ! " 

"  Come !  Come !  "  said  Gartha,  urging  Quentin. 
"Let  us  run!" 

"  You  cannot  go,  Garta ! "  repeated  Mademoiselle 
in  a  very  decided  tone. 

"  The  French  is  a  language  which  I  do  not  compre- 
hend— me !  "  said  Gartha. 

"It  is  her  mother  tongue,"  said  Madame,  turning 
laughingly  to  Quentin.  "She  is  not  at  all  at  home  in 
English." 

"Just  this  once,  Mademoiselle."  It  was  the  voice 
of  Alixe.  She  came  forward  from  somewhere  behind 
them  all. 

"She  will  spoil  her  shoes,"  urged  Mademoiselle. 

"  As  if  I  had  not  more  of  the  shoes !     Nom  de  Dieu !  " 

"  Come !  Come !  "  to  Quentin,  with  renewed  pull- 
ing of  the  hand.  Alixe  had  now  come  up  to  them 
and  was  standing  just  without  the  gate  with  the  young 
priest. 

"  I  think  that  you  have  not  met  Father  Halle,  Mr. 
Quentin,"  said  she.  "This  is  our  verj^  old  friend, 
F:ither  Halle,  and  he  is  also  a  trusted  friend  of  my 
husband." 


92  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

The  men  bowed,  but  neither  offered  his  hand.  The 
introduction  seemed  longer  than  necessary  and  stilted, 
Quentin  thought,  but  he  felt  that  he  dimly  understood 
the  cause. 

They  had  all  emerged  from  the  gate,  Gartha  still 
pulling  Quentin  onward,  which  caused  him  to  hasten 
his  footsteps,  Madame  keeping  up  her  quick  little 
Louis  Quinze  patter  beside  him. 

"Gartha,"  said  Alixe,  "walk  quietly.  If  you  do 
not,  I  shall  send  you  back. 

"Yes,  Alixe,"  replied  the  child  submissively,  and 
at  once  suited  her  pace  to  that  of  Madame. 

"You  see  that  Alixe  can  do  anything  with  her," 
said  Madame  to  Quentin. 

The  procession  skirted  the  wall  of  the  domain,  as 
far  as  it  environed  the  chateau. 

"  This  was  the  old  wall  of  the  convent,"  began  Miss 
Spencer,  who  had  taken  up  her  position  again  in  front 
of  Quentin.     She  turned  toward  him  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  am  quite  capable  of  explaining  the  chateau  to 
Mr.  Quentin,  Ada,"  said  Madame. 

"  She  does  take  possession  of  a  man ! "  confided 
Miss  Spencer  to  Mademoiselle. 

"  You  can  see  how  carefully  the  old  windows  are 
guarded,"  said  Madame,  looking  up  at  her  guest. 
"Nothing  but  slits  and  loopholes  most  of  them,  with 
iron  bars  across  even  these.  Just  think  how  it  has 
lasted,  more  than  six  hundred  years,  and  looks  as  if 
it  would  last  six  hundred  more." 

"We  don't  build  in  that  way  now-a-days,"  he  an- 
swered. 

The  advance  guard  had  now  halted,  and  as  Madame 
and  Quentin  approached  them  the  Baroness  was  apos- 
trophising some  one  or  something. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  93 

"  Oh !  You  dear,  fat  mans !  Ob !  You  dear,  tzin 
mans !     I  know  not  vich  I  lofe  ze  best  of  zoze  mans." 

Quentin  raised  his  eyes  and  caught  sight  of  two 
carved  figures  of  stone  high  above  his  head  in  a  niche 
in  the  wall. 

"  If  any  testimony  were  needed  as  to  the  age  of 
these  buildings,  there  it  is,"  said  Father  Halle. 

The  thin  man  showed  his  bones  in  the  most  ap- 
proved anatomical  manner.  His  look  was  sad  and 
wretched;  his  lean  and  wasted  jaws  bagging  down- 
ward; his  skeleton  hand  was  outheld  for  alms.  The 
fat  man  by  his  side  was  round  and  jolly.  His  cheeks 
appeared  to  be  bursting  with  laughter  and  good  nat- 
ure. His  paunch  seemed  rotund  with  the  weight  of 
many  a  grand  dinner.  The  stone  was  so  ancient  that 
time  had  worn  many  a  hole  and  dent  in  its  surface, 
but  still  the  thin  man  looked  gloomily  downward,  and 
still  the  fat  man  seemed  to  crack  his  cheeks  with 
ludicrous  jollity. 

Quentin  saw  not  much  to  admire  in  the  two  figures 
beside  their  age  and  the  endurance  with  which  they 
had  weathered  the  storm  and  sunshine  for  over  six 
hundred  years.  He  "Oh'd"  and  "Ah'd"  politely, 
however,  and  then  turned  away  to  follow  the  gor- 
geous bevy  who  were  retracing  their  way  toward  the 
entrance  gate.  The  voluble  Baroness  departed,  throw- 
ing kisses  over  her  shoulder  to  her  dear  fat  mans, 
and  her  dear  tzin  mans,  and  declaring  animatedly 
that  she  knew  not  which  she  lofed  ze  best  of  zoze 
dear  mans. 


vni. 

As  the  assemblage  neared  tlie  door  in  the  wall,  dust 
seemed  to  fill  the  air.  It  flew  thick,  and  Madame 
sneezed  with  several  wild  little  screeches,  which  she 
endeavored  in  vain  to  smother.  Alixe  hurried  past 
them,  coughing  as  she  ran. 

"  How  strange ! "  said  Madame  when  she  could 
speak.  "No  carriage  has  passed  by.  Nor  am  I  ex- 
pecting any  one." 

"There  goes  a  wagon,"  said  Quentin;  "back  along 
the  road." 

"  Some  one  must  have  arrived  then ! "  Madame  re- 
leased Quentin 's  arm  and  accelerated  her  speed. 

On  entering  the  doorway  it  was  evident  indeed  that 
some  one  had  arrived.  The  terrace  was  piled  high 
with  luggage.  Orders  more  or  less  authoritative  were 
being  given  in  a  man's  voice.  The  low  tones  of  Alixe, 
which  possessed  such  carrying  power,  and,  when  she 
chose  to  dictate,  which  no  one  refused  to  obej^  were 
heard  above  the  first  voice,  and  Quentin  saw  that 
along  toward  the  chalet  some  of  the  men-servants 
were  struggling  with  a  box  which  seemed  too  heavy 
for  them.  Mentally  he  compared  this  smaller  box, 
of  such  apparent  weight,  with  his  own  easily-lifted 
good-sized  one. 

"Ah,  monDieu!     It  is  Bruno,"  shrilled  Madame. 

"It  is  my  friend,  Bruno,"  said  Father  Halle,  with 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  95 

a  sound  in  his  voice  which  was  a  mixture  of  pleasure 
and  fear, 

"  It  is  Bruno ! "  piped  the  merry  note  of  the  Ras- 
taquouere.  "Don't  blow  us  up,  Bruno,  I  beg  of 
you." 

"  It  is  the  husband  of  Alixe,"  whispered  Miss  Spen- 
cer in  Quentin's  ear.  "  I,  for  one,  have  business  in 
towD." 

"  Ah,  bah !  It  is  my  Uncle  Bruno, "  said  Gartha. 
"That  godenot,  my  Uncle  Bruno." 

"It  is  the  Count  St.  Aubin,"  said  Mademoiselle  in 
a  low  tone.  "  Now  you  will  see  how  quickly  we  shall 
lose  our  guests." 

"It  is  the  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  mumbled  Charles. 
"  Now  there  will  be  no  more  peace ! " 

Upon  the  terrace  there  was  an  air  of  excitement 
which  centered  about  a  crooked,  thin,  undersized  man, 
whose  skin  was  yellow,  and  whose  eyes  were  small 
and  black. 

"  Faites  attention ! "  he  called  in  a  penetrating 
head  voice.  "  If  you  let  that  box  fall,  my  life's  work 
is  ended." 

"We  will  not  drop  it.  Monsieur  'le  Comte,"  called 
Antoine  and  Pierre  Monrouge  in  many  jerky  breaths 
as  they  staggered  and  shuffled  and  stumbled  and  per- 
spired. They  carried  their  burden  as  if,  should  they 
allow  it  to  slip  from  their  grasp,  their  life's  work 
would  also  be  ended. 

"I  thought  you  were  at  Hamburg,"  said  Alixe. 

"So  I  was.  >ools!  Dolts!  Idiots!  That  I  must 
see  after  such  a  set  of  ignoramuses,  who  will  spoil 
the  work  of  a  lifetime.  Careful  there,  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge, if  you  know  what  is  good  for  you.  You  will 
ruin  me  between  you." 


96  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  They  are  doing  tlieir  best,  Bruno ;  the  box  seems 
heavy.     And  are  you  just  from  England?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  St.  Aubin,  shortly. 

"  Ce  cher  Bruno ! "  said  the  Baroness  to  Miss  Spen- 
cer, "  with  he's  so  pretty  manners.  Now  you  will  see 
ze  leafings  like  ze  leafings  of  ze  autumn. " 

"Now  the  men  will  give  warning,"  whispered  Ma- 
dame to  Alixe.  "  Why  must  he  return  so  abruptly 
and  harry  the  servants  so  that  they "   , 

"Nonsense,  Mamasha! "  said  Alixe,  goodnaturedly. 
"  What  are  they  afraid  of?  " 

"  You  know  what  Charles  said  the  last  time,  when 
his  hand  was  injured.  He  is  such  an  excellent  serv- 
ant, too !  Where  could  we  find  another  who  would 
do  all  that  Charles  does  in  this  household?  " 

"  That  is  very  true,  Mamasha,"  replied  Alixe;  " but 
think  what  it  means  to  Bruno. " 

"  Why  should  he  keep  on  with  his  expensive  re- 
searches? I  never  dreamed  of  this  when — if  I  had 
imagined — I  shall  never  forgive  you,  Alixe,  for  giv- 
ing him  so  much  control  of  your  fortune.  It  is  ridicu- 
lous. You  might  much  better  have  given  it  to  me. 
You  know  it  cannot  last  forever.  After  the  place  at 
Pau  was  sold,  and  the  house  at  Trouville — you  are  a 
rich  woman  no  longer " 

"  Oh,  Mamasha,  what  difference  does  it  make?  We 
have  still  enough,  and  Bruno's  pride  will  be  satisfied 
with  the  fortune  which  he  thinks  he  can  make  and 
thus  become  independent  of  me.  I  caDnot  blame  him. 
Why  cannot  we  let  people  be  happy  in  their  own  way  ? 
It  is  such  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  dependent " 

"No  one  knows  that  better  than  I,  Alixe."  This 
Madame  said  in  a  tone  which  was  full  of  bitter- 
ness. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  97 

Alixe  turned.  "  Oh !  Oh !  Have  I  made  you  feel 
it?     How,  mother?     How? " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Madame  in  warning,  looking  nerv- 
ously to  where  Quentin  stood  not  far  away. 

"How  have  I  made  you  feel  it?  "  pressed  Alixe  in 
a  lower  tone.     "  I  am  sure  it  is  right  that  you  should 

have  it  all.     It  was  your  idea — no "  seeing  the 

expression  of  Madame's  face,  "I  am  not  bitter, 
mother.  I  only  think  sometimes  of  what  my  life 
might  have  been.     I  was  so  young  and " 

"  He  should  not  be  coming  here  in  this  way ! "  ex- 
claimed Madame,  reverting  to  her  grievance.  "  Now, 
every  one  will  leave." 

"I  have  no  control  over  Bruno,  that  you  know. 
Moth — Mamasha.  He  has  always  been  your  favorite ; 
you  should  speak  to  him,  he  will " 

"  I  speak  to  him !  I  have  lost  my  power  over  him, 
Alixe,  since  he  married  you.  Certainly  I  did  not 
foresee.     Now,  every  one  will  be  going " 

"I  for  one  shall  not  be  sorry,"  said  Alixe,  half  smil- 
ing. 

"  Fond  as  I  am  of  Bruno,  he  should  not  be  allowed 
to  burst  in  upon  us  in  this  unexpected  way." 

"We  cannot  tell  him  not  to  come.  He  has  the 
right.     It  was  not  my  fault,  mother." 

"  Hush ! "  said  Madame  again.  "  Do  not  reproach 
me,  Alixe;  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"I  shall  not  reproach  you,"  said  Alixe,  "It  was  a 
dreadful  mistake.  I  was  too  young  to  see — to 
know " 

"  Alixe !  Alixe ! "  sounded  along  the  terrace  in  the 
Count's  voice.     "I  want  you." 

"Yes,  yes,  Bruno, " answered  Alixe,  walking  swiftly 
toward  the  chalet.  The  priest  followed  her  with  quick 
7 


98  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

steps.  Madame  turned  to  the  Baroness.  "  I  do  not 
tliink  Father  Halle  good  for  Bruno,"  she  said.  She 
spoke  of  the  priest  as  if  he  were  a  bit  of  unripe  fruit 
or  an  over-rich  pastry. 

Alixe  reached  the  chalet  steps  and  was  about  to  en- 
ter the  archway,  but  was  stopped  by  a  cry  from  over- 
head. 

"  Don't  come  up,  Alixe. "  She  came  out  from  under 
the  overhanging  vines,  disappointment  in  her  face. 
"No,  you  mustn't  come  up,"  called  St.  Aubin  from 
over  the  narrow  little  balcony,  "  the  things  are  too 
dangerous.  If  I  blow  myself  up,  it  will  not  matter 
so  much." 

"  Oh,  Bruno ! "  said  Alixe,  kindly.  "  It  would  mat- 
ter very  much.  I  should  like  to  come  up.  You  must 
have  some  new  chemicals  which  I  have  not  seen.  I 
should  like  to  know  how  you  manage  them.  I  found 
it  all  so  interesting." 

"No,  no!"  said  the  Count,  decidedly.  "I  called 
you  only  to  tell  you  that  I  have  already  made  some- 
thing by  my  last  invention." 

"  Oh,  Bruno !  "  exclaimed  Alixe  gayly.  "  How 
happy  you  must  feel ! " 

"  I  heard  the  news  only  this  morning.  Yes,  I  am 
glad,  because  I  want  you  to  see  that  I  am  good  for 
something  besides  wasting  your  money." 

"  What  was  it,  Bruno?    An  automobile?  " 

"  N-n-no,  not  exactly  that. " 

"Have  they  bought  your  patent,  Bruno?"  asked 
Alixe,  shading  her  eyes  and  looking  up  at  him  from 
under  the  brim  of  her  old  Russian  hat. 

"  No,  I  cannot  tell  you  about  it  now.  But  I  am 
much  encouraged ;  I  have  made  fifty  thousand  francs 
already.    Just  think  of  that,  Alixe !    Fifty  thousand 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  99 

francs !  You  see,  I  am  more  like  other  men  than  you 
think." 

"I  have  always  thought  you  very  clever,  Bruno," 
said  Alixe.  "  Two  thousand  pounds !  Only  think  of 
that !  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  though,  when  I  have 
more  than  enough,  it  seems  so  useless " 

"Don't  say  '  have,'  Alixe,"  said  St.  Aubin  leaning 
over  and  looking  down  upon  her.  "  You  must  say 
'had'  after  this." 

He  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  so  that  those  a  little  fur- 
ther away  could  not  hear :  "  You  know  that  I  have 
sunk  fortunes  in  the  perfecting  of  my  plans.  I  do 
not  believe  that  a.nj  one  else  ever  thought  of  just  this 
way  to  apply  the  hidden  power  that  I  have  discovered. 
I  am  now  turning  m}^  attention  to  the  automobile. 
Don't  you  remember  how  I  tried  everything  that 
science  could  achieve?  That  is,  so  far  as  I  knew 
anything  about  it.  Alchemy-  was  one  thing,  do  you 
remember?  We  thought  we  had  a  gold  mine  up  here 
in  the  chalet." 

"  Yes,  Bruno,"  laughed  Alixe;  "  that  was  before  we 
were  married." 

"Were  we  ever  married?"  said  St.  Aubin,  with  a 
return  of  the  bitter  tone  which  had  sounded  through 
his  first  words.  He  turned  quickly:  "Who  is  that? 
Don't  come  in  so  like  a  cat?  "  Something  was  said  in 
a  low  tone,  by  the  person  within  the  room,  which 
Alixe  did  not  hear. 

"Good-by,  Bruno,"  said  Alixe,  looking  kindly  up- 
ward.    "  I  will  see  you  at  dinner." 

Halle  came  from  the  back  of  the  room  to  the  long 
windows,  and  looked  out  through  the  vine-clad  open- 
ing. He  was  very  much  taller  than  St.  Aubin,  and 
his  pale  face  made  the  Count's  appear  even  more  sal- 


100  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

low  than  usual.  "  How  can  you  have  her  here ! " 
he  exclaimed,  angrily.  "If  you  must  make  ex- 
perim " 

" Ta,  ta ! "  replied  the  Count,  impatiently.  "Don't 
interfere,  Bob.  Very  well,  run  along  then,  Alixe. 
Halle  is  afraid  we  shall  blow  ourselves  up  and  you 
into  the  bargain." 

"Till  dinner,  then,"  said  Alixe. 

Alixe  walked  slowly  away  toward  the  chateau.  She 
met  Quentin,  who  was  just  turning  in  at  the  archway 
of  the  chalet  stairs. 

Alixe  stopped  a  moment. 

"Mr.  Quentin,"  she  said,  "I  think  that  when  our 
other  guests  are  gone,  we  had  better  give  you  a  dif- 
ferent room — one  over  in  the  chateau " 

"I  like  my  room,"  said  Quentin.  "I  don't  see 
why " 

"I  should  rather,"  said  Alixe,  "Count  St.  Aubin 
is  very  fond  of  making  experiments,  and  I  am  always 
fearing  some  accident." 

"  And  what  about  the  Count  himself? "  asked 
Quentin. 

"That  goes  without  saying,"  answered  Alixe 
coldly.  "But  I  have  given  up  expostulating  with 
him  long  ago.  He  used  to  have  very  simple  chemi- 
cals, and  I  used  to  delight  in  helping  him,  but  he 
has  grown  learned  of  late,  and  he  says  that  he  has 
left  me  behind.  I  have  discovered  that  there  are 
some  things  which  a  woman  cannot  compass,  Mr 
Quentin." 

There  was  the  sound  of  flying  feet  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  chateau. 

"  Alixe !  Alixe ! "  called  Gartha,  when  yet  some  dis- 
tance along  the  terrace.     "Mamasha  wishes  you  to 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  101 

know  that  the  dinner  will  be  in  the  chateau  to-night, 
in  honor  of  the  Lord  Eldon." 

"  Lord  Eldon ! "  exclaimed  Alixe. 

"  Yes,  the  Lord  Eldon,  and  Uncle  Bruno,  and  Mon- 
sieur le  Maurier.  They  have  both  sent  the  messages, 
and  Mamasha  says  that  this  time  she  hopes  you 
dress  yourself  de  rigueur." 

"I  will  remember,  Gartha,"  said  Alixe,  smiling  her 
answer.  She  bowed  to  Quentin  and  proceeded  along 
the  terrace. 

"Mr.  le  Maurier  is  coming,"  screamed  Miss  Spen- 
cer to  Quentin  as  she  met  him  on  the  terrace.  "  He's 
the  man  that  edits  a  blue  book,  or  a  purple  book,  or 
something  esthetic,  or  supposed  to  be.  He  gets  it 
up  in  the  most  anaesthetic  manner.  I  always  go  to 
sleep  when  it  comes  in  the  house." 

"  Uncle  Bruno !  Uncle  Bruno !  "  called  Gartha  im- 
patiently from  under  the  chalet  balcony. 

"What  is  it,  Gartha?  "  The  low  head  was  pushed 
out  just  over  the  balcony  rail. 

"  Mamasha  wants  you  to  know  that  you  are  to  be 
en  frac,  de  rigueur,  this  evening,  of  the  best  manner 
possible.  The  Lord  Eldon  is  coming;  he  has  tele- 
graphed, and  Monsieur  le  Maurier." 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  dress  for  Lord  Eldon  at 
Madame's  orders,"  said  Bruno  impatiently.  "I  am 
quite  tired  out,  and  as  for  that  little  editor — however, 
tell  Mamasha  I  will  obey,  and  tell  Alixe,  Gartha, 
Gartha !  do  you  hear  me?  Tell  Alixe  that  I  wish  her 
to  make  herself  handsome." 

"She  does  not  have  to  make  herself  handsome, 
Uncle  Bruno.  Mamasha  said  that  I  am  to  tell  you 
to  try  not  to  have  an  es plosion  before  dinner,  because 
they  will  leave  to-night,  and  wo  have  not  enough  of 


102  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

fiacres  to  get  them  to  their  trains.  Mon  Dieu,  non! 
Miss  Spencer,  and  Miss  Thorndyke,  and  Lady  Barnes 
are  all  especting  petits  bleus  that  they  are  wanted  in 
Paris  at  once.  The  Baroness  will  not  have  none,  be- 
cause she  has  no  hotel  of  her  own,  and  Mademoiselle 
will  have  to  stay  until  Mamasha  shall  pay  her  bill 
for  me." 

"At  her  same  old  tricks."  St.  Aubin  laughed  un- 
pleasantly. 

"  But,"  continued  Gartha,  "  she  has  asked  Mamasha 
to  change  ses  appartements,  move  her  to  the  other 
side  of  the  chateau.  They  are  all  packing  their 
chiffons  and  lots  of  them  are  going  in  the  first  train 
which  comes  in  the  morning." 

"  No  matter  how  dark  a  day  it  is,  there  is  always 
something  to  be  thankful  for,"  said  the  Count  laugh- 
ing again." 

"  And  they  are  begging  of  Mamasha,  all  but  beg- 
ging of  her,  to  have  all  their  dinners — les  repas, 
you  know — in  the  chateau,  until  they  do  leave.  They 
all  pretend  it  is  the  business,  or  the  sickness,  or 
some  engagement,  but  we  know  the  reason,  do  we 
not,  Uncle  Bruno?  Te  souviens-tu,  mon  cher  oncle, 
when  I'you  have  burned  my  cat  and  have  frappe  a 
hole  in  the  chalet  wall?  " 

"That  is  another  thing  to  thank  Providence  for, 
Gartha,  burning  the  cat !  "  returned  St.  Aubin  piously. 
"  Always  remember  that !  So  the  dear  old  maids  are 
going!  So  much  the  better.  Who  is  in  the  other 
wing,  Gartha?" 

"An  American  monsieur,  a  Mr.  Quentin.  Made- 
moiselle says  he  is  tres  gentil.  Ada  Spencer,  she 
says,  has  set  her  cap  with  him  already.  What  is  it 
to  set  a  cap,  Uncle  Bruno?  " 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  103 

"One  of  Mamaslia's  latest?  "  asked  St.  Aubin,  not 
answering  the  child's  question. 

"The  very  latest,"  said  Gartha.  "Mamasha  goes 
to  adore  that  Mr.  Quentin.  One  can  see  that  with 
a  blow  of  the  eye.  She  regards  him,  that  Mr.  Quen- 
tin, with  a  maniere  adorable.  I  think  she  would  have 
place  him  in  the  other  wing  if  she  had  known  you 
were  coming.  Uncle  Bruno." 

At  this  doubtful  compliment,  St,  Aubin  gave  vent 
to  the  exclamation,  "  Damned  uncomfortable ! "  He 
turned  to  the  priest.  "What  shall  we  do  now,  you 
lantern-jawed  son  of  holy  church?  " 

"  My  advice  would  be  to  do  nothing.  To  give  it 
up,"  replied  Halle. 

"Just  when  we  have  got  so  far?  Not  I.  You 
haven't  the  spunk  of  a  mouse,  Bob.  Do  you  know 
that  I  have  just  made  fifty  thousand  francs,  and 
when  it  is  paid  I  shall  hand  five  thousand  of  it  over 
to  you." 

A  look  of  cupidity  came  into  the  priest's  eyes. 
His  face  grew  paler.  "Five  thousand  francs!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Five  thousand  francs  !  It  seems  worth 
all  the  risk,  doesn't  it,  Bruno?  With  such  results,  and 
yet—"  He  shook  his  head  and  put  his  hand  over 
his  eyes.  "Have  you  seen  the  morning  papers, 
Bruno? " 

"Pschutt!  Don't  be  more  of  a  Avoman  than  you 
can  help !     What  are  you  afraid  of?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Halle.  "  I  am  afraid,  and  that 
is  the  truth." 

"Don't  begin  to  esi)lode  until  Valery  is  out  of  the 
way,  will  you,  Uncle  Bruno?"  It  was  the  young 
voice  of  Gartha  underneath  the  chalet  window. 

"  Go  away,  Gartha !  and  do  stop  this  talk  of  blow- 


104  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

ing  up.  I  have  had  very  few  accidents,  that  you 
know  well." 

"  I  am  not  going  away,  Uncle  Bruno.  I  am  com- 
ing up,  I  wish  to  see  those  tuff-tuffs  which  you  make 
— tuff-tuffs,"  she  repeated,  looking  proudly  around 
her  to  see  who  might  be  listening.  "That  is  the 
argot  of  the  quartier,  tuff-tuffs." 

"  You  are  not  coming  up.  Go  to  the  chateau  and 
tell  Mamasha  that  I  shall  obey  her  orders,  and  dress 
this  evening  " — he  turned  to  the  priest — "  as  becomes 
my  manly  figure,  eh.  Bob?  "  Suddenly  his  face  grew 
pallid  underneath  its  tint  of  yellow.  He  raised  his 
claw-like  hands,  and  shook  them  in  the  air.  "  How 
I  hate  the  whole  human  race,"  he  said,  between  a 
shriek  and  a  howl.  "How  I  hate  the  Lord  in 
heaven." 

"  Stop,  stop,  Bruno ! "  said  Halle  with  a  frightened 
look.     "You  must  not  say  such  words." 

"  Look  at  me ! "  said  St.  Aubin,  turning  his  bent 
figure  toward  the  priest.  "  Look  at  me !  I  am  a  fine, 
shapely  creature,  am  I  not?  A  fine  figure  of  a  hus- 
band, made,  as  we  are  taught,  after  the  image  of  God 
Almighty.  That  peerless  young  creature !  She  is  fit 
to  be  an  empress.  Compare  us.  See  how  in  her  pitj^ 
and  good  nature — and  she  loathes  me,  Halle,  I  can 
see  it  at  every  glance  of  her  eye — see  how  she  defrauds 
herself  of  her  splendid  height  that  she  may  try  to 
come  down  to  my  level.  My  level!  My  physical 
level !  She  could  never  in  God's  world  come  down 
to  my  moral  level " 

The  priest  was  very  pale.  "She  could  never  do 
that,"  he  said.     "No,  nor  to  the  level  of  any  man." 

"When  my  aunt  married  her  to  me,  Bob,  Alixe 
seemed  to  imagine  that  as  we  had  been  good  friends 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  105 

as  cousins,  we  sliould  continue  that  friendship  as 
husband  and  wife.  Imagine  it,  Halle!  Two  such 
marriages !  Is  there  any  remote  nook  in  the  extreme 
confines  of  hell,  white-hot  enough  for  our  dear  little 
Mamasha?  She  escaped  the  Duke,  but  she  has  not 
escaped  me." 

"  Bruno,  Bruno !  Do  not ! "  said  Halle.  He  leaned 
out  of  the  window  and  drew  in  long  breaths  of  air. 

"  When  I  see  her  as  I  saw  her  to-day — but  come. 
Bob,  I  must  open  my  boxes  and  get  out  something 
that  will  become  me,  as  the  husband  of  the  Duchess. 
The  beautiful  young  Duchess,  and  her  gnome  of  a 
husband !  We  should  act  a  play  for  our  guests  to- 
night ;  it  should  be  called  *  Beauty  and  the  Beast. ' 
Here,  Bob,  take  these  keys  and  open  the  small  box." 
Halle  caught  the  jangling  ring  thrown  at  him,  knelt, 
and  applied  a  small  key  to  the  lock  of  one  of  the 
boxes.     He  threw  the  lid  upward.    St.  Aubin  turned. 

"No,  no,  not  that  one!"  Halle  looked  up  at  the 
fierce  tone.  St,  Aubin' s  face  was  convulsed  with 
passion.  "  May  I  never  forget  the  cause  of  my  pros- 
perity? Not  for  one  moment?  Must  you  always  be 
reminding  me  of  it?    Fool ! " 

Halle  winced  as  if  he  had  been  struck  as  he  closed 
the  lid  and  hid  from  view  the  mass  of  machinery, 
wheels,  springs,  cogs  and  levers. 

"  Lock  it ! "  commanded  Bruno,  "  and  open  the  pale 
yellow  box.  That  matches  my  complexion  of  cream 
and  roses?  That  belongs  to  a  gentleman,  the  husband 
of  a  Duchess;  the  box  which  you  have  just  closed,  to 
a  devil  from  hell." 


IX. 


When  Quentin  entered  the  great  salon  at  eight 
o'clock,  he  found  it  full  of  people,  among  them  sev- 
eral persons  whom  he  had  not  seen  before.  Lady 
Barnes  was  there,  and  "the  Jennings  girls,"  Miss 
Thorndyke,  and  Miss  Spencer,  and  a  florid  little  gen- 
tleman who  was  introduced  as  Lord  Eldou.  Every 
one  was  laughing  at  the  little  man's  jokes,  Valery 
loudest  of  all.  The  Kastaquouere  was  a  resplendent 
vision,  and  though  dressed  in  customary  suit  of  sol- 
emn black,  his  inevitable  gorgeousness  made  the  other 
men  appear  more  or  less  as  if  they  had  not  dressed  at 
all.  He  had  gone  to  the  extreme,  as  ever,  in  decora- 
tion. The  Count  was  there,  and  Father  Halle;  and 
who  was  that  tall  vision  of  loveliness  standing  near 
the  flower-filled  chimney  place,  talking  with  an  old 
gentleman  who  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  Napo- 
leon Third?  The  old  Russian  hat  in  which  he  had 
seen  her  was  gone.  The  beautiful  hair  was  arranged 
in  a  coronet,  a  diamond  tiara  crowning  the  whole. 
The  lovely  shoulders  were  bare,  as  Avere  the  fair  arms 
and  hands.  The  gown  of  grey  lisse  sprinkled  with 
cut  steel,  the  necklace  of  diamonds  and  pearls  sur- 
rounding the  statuesque  throat,  the  collar  clasped  at 
the  back,  the  strings  of  pearls  falling  in  rows  upon 
her  neck,  enhanced  her  beauty  and  made  a  picture 
which  Quentin  never  forgot. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  107 

"  She  seems  to  carry  all  tlie  family  property  on  lier 
person,"  said  Miss  Spencer's  ubiquitous  voice.  "  You 
know  what  Harry  Ware  said,  I  suppose,  that  when 
the  Duke  died,  she  laid  down  her  cross  and  took  up 
her  crown." 

Quentin  stood  gazing  spellbound  at  this  wonderful 
picture,  hardly  hearing  Miss  Spencer's  words. 

"She  has  forgotten  to  stoop,"  said  Miss  Spencer. 

"  A  young  goddess ! "  he  breathed.  He  heard  as  if 
in  a  dream  Madame's  voice  saying  to  Lord  Eldon, 
"Have  you  seen  the  Paris  journals?"  and  Lord  El- 
don's  answer,  "I  saw  them  on  the  train."  He  heard 
Valery  say,  "  Mamasha,  what  a  spoil-sport  you  are. 
You  know  very  well  that  the  Daniellis  were  on  board 
that  steamer.  Don't  speak  so  loud,  Alixe  may  hear 
you."  He  heard  another  voice  saying,  "How  our 
dear  Mamasha  loves  a  sensation."  Quentin  turned 
and  saw  a  little  yellow  creature  who  was  looking 
upward  at  Madame,  though  she  was  a  small  woman. 

"We  are  speaking  of  a  terrible  accident  at  sea," 
said  Madame  explanatorily  in  a  lowered  tone  of 
voice.  "Have  you  met  the  Count,  Mr.  Quentin? 
Bruno,  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Quentin.  The  Da- 
nielli  girls  have  just  been  staying  here,  and  Virginia 
was  perhaps  the  dearest  friend  that  Alixe  had,  in 
fact " 

"I  forbid  you  to  tell  the  Duchess  until  to-mor- 
row," said  St.  Aubin  sharply.  He  had  bowed 
slightly  to  Quentin,  showing  plainly  by  his  speech 
and  manner  that  he  resented  the  familiar  use  of  his 
wife's  name  to  an  utter  stranger.  Quentin  under- 
stood his  intention,  and  turned  away  somewhat  an- 
noyed, feeling  that  it  was  not  his  fault  if  Madame 
was  at  times  a  trifle  underbred. 


108  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Of  course  it  was  a  French  steamer,"  said  Lord 
Eldon. 

"  There  you  go  with  your  British  prejudices.  Mr. 
Quentin,  Lord  Eldon,"  said  Madame  parentheticall3\ 
"  No,  unfortunately  a  German  one,  though  why  I  say 
unfortunately  I  do  not  know.  It  is  all  unfortunate. 
Why!  Bruno,"  turning  to  him,  "that  is  the  very 
steamer  you  crossed  in  to  Southampton,  isn't  it?  " 

Quentin  glanced  at  the  Count  and  saw  he  was 
trembling  slightly ;  the  thought  flashed  through  his 
mind  that  perhaps  there  was  some  one  on  board  for 
whom  the  Count  cared.  Perhaps  one  of  those  girls 
who  had  been  staying  at  the  Abbey;  and  he  now 
remembered  that  Miss  Spencer  had  suggested,  among 
the  other  bits  of  information  which  she  had  gratui- 
tously given  him,  that  he  (St.  Aubin)  had  been  more 
interested  in  her  than  propriety  demanded.  A  feel- 
ing of  resentment  arose  within  his  breast  that  the 
husband  of  that  peerless  woman  could  even  think  of 
any  one  else. 

"And  the  Daniellis  were  on  board,  weren't  they?" 
inquired  Miss  Thorndyke,  who  had  joined  the  group. 

"Yes,  they  were  on  board,"  answered  St.  Aubin, 
from  stiff  lips. 

"Faith !  you'll  never  get  a  safe  steamer  till  you  get 
an  Irish  one,"  said  Valery.  "The  green  flag  at  the 
masthead." 

Lord  Eldon  laughed  tolerantly. 

"Madame  is  served,"  said  Charles  from  the  open 
doors  at  the  side  of  the  salon. 

Charles  stood  near  Madame,  but  he  looked  at  his 
younger,  legitimate  mistress.  Lord  Eldon  turned 
and  surveyed  the  room.  Madame  bent  toward  him 
expectantly,  but  Lord  Eldon,  an  old   bird  in  diplo- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  109 

macy  and  the  usages  of  precedence,  would  rather  break 
a  friendship  than  make  a  mistake  in  the  rules  which 
no  one  knew  better  than  he.  He  advanced  toward 
Alixe  and  offered  his  arm,  at  the  same  moment  that 
St.  Aubin  took  Madame's  hand,  and  thrust  it  within 
his  own.  Madame  bit  her  lip  as  she  heard  St.  Aubin 
say: 

"  They  may  do  it  when  I  am  away,  but  not  when  I 
am  here.  Come,  Mamasha  dear !  Sit  on  my  wife's 
left,  Mr.  Quentin,  if  you  please,  and  take  the  Bar- 
oness; Lady  Barnes,  on  Lord  Eldon's  right,  I  think, 
with  Valery ;  the  cards  are  all  there,  I  suppose,  but 
the  table  seems  longer  than  usual  somehow.  Mon- 
sieur le  Maurier,  take  Miss  Jennings,  on  Madame's 
left,  if  you  please.  Bob,  pick  up  Miss  Spencer,"  and 
thus  did  Bruno,  Count  St.  Aubin,  marshal  his  forces, 
much  to  Madame's  chagrin  and  discomfiture.  Bruno 
and  Monsieur  le  Maurier  were  but  a  poor  exchange 
for  Lord  Eldon  and  Quentin,  her  own  particular 
friends,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  and  Ma- 
dame knew  when  to  submit.  Her  smile  was  as  that 
of  an  angel  as  she  took  her  place.  Quentin,  bewil- 
dered and  astonished,  found  himself  on  the  left  of 
the  young  chatelaine.  He  gazed  curiously  at  her  for 
a  moment  as  her  nearer  radiance  enveloped  him. 
Decidedly,  Alixe,  in  the  old  Russian  hat,  and  the 
concealing  laces,  and  Alixe  wearing  a  queen's  ransom 
upon  her  throat,  her  neck,  her  arms,  a  crown  upon 
her  lovely  head,  seemed  two  entirelj'  different  crea- 
tures, although  Quentin  found  that  there  appeared 
to  be  no  change  in  her  own  point  of  view  or  manner, 
because  of  these  adornments. 

The  conversation  between  Lord  Eldon  and  Valery 
turned  upon  speculations  and  the  value  of  modern 


110  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

investment,  and  the  Eastaquouere  sang  the  glories  of 
the  Eand  and  the  result  if  a  Briton,  meaning  an  Irish- 
man, could  once  get  "  a  fair  show."  "  I  can't  see  why 
you  don't  come  out  there  and  invest,  Bruno,"  called 
Yalery  down  the  long  table. 

St.  Aubin  thrust  aside  some  flowers  and  vines  to 
answer  him. 

"  How  much  does  your  speculation  out  there  bring 
you  in,  Valery?  "  he  asked. 

Valery,  with  ready  and  not  too  scrupulous  imagi- 
nation, mentioned  a  sum  whose  size  took  away  the 
breaths  of  the  listeners.  St.  Aubin  looked  up  at  the 
priest.  "Perhaps  that  would  have  been  safer.  Bob," 
said  he.     The  priest  looked  uneasy. 

"I  am  not  a  business  man,"  he  replied,  "and  I 
know  nothing  absolutely  of  speculation,  but  if  I 
were,  I  should  certainly  advise  the  Band;  certainly." 

"But,  you  see  Bruno  doesn't  know  anything  about 
the  Band,  and  he  does  about  inventions,"  said  Ma- 
dame. "  And  then  he  is  so  kind-hearted !  He  could 
not  bear  to  see  those  poor  creatures  work  so  hard  out 
there.  Now,  in  his  inventive  business,  there  is  no 
need  of  his  killing  anybody  but  himself."  Madame 
had  no  fancy  for  seeing  more  of  the  fortune,  which  she 
had  with  such  difficulty  succeeded  in  obtaining,  melt 
away  into  thin  air. 

St.  Aubin' s  fork  dropped  from  his  hand  to  his 
plate  with  anything  but  a  well-bred  clatter. 

"  Mamasha !  "  he  said  in  a  tone  of  annoyance,  "  how 
often  have  I  told  you  that  I  cannot  bear  to  be  talked 
about ! " 

"  Modesty,  Bruno !     Modesty  !"  said  Valery. 
"  When  does  the  first  train  leave  in  the  morning? ' 
asked  Miss  Spencer. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  111 

Madame  caught  tlie  question. 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  I  think,  Ada.  But  surely  you  do 
not  think  of  going  away  to-morrow." 

"I  think  I  must  return."  Miss  Spencer  looked 
down  at  her  plate,  then  up  again.  "And  Mary 
Thorndyke  is  coming  with  me."  This  addition  in 
answer  to  an  appealing  look  from  Miss  Thorndyke, 
who  had  begged  her  that  at  dinner  she  would 
make  their  causes  one.  "You  see  my  aunt  is  ail- 
ing." 

"Mary  Thorndyke's  aunt  isn't  ailing." 

"But  grandma  is  quite  feeble,  Madame,  and  I 
really  think  I  must  go  too." 

"  Will  there  be  room  in  the  wagonette  for  me  and 
my  secretary ?  "  asked  the  elder  Miss  Jennings.  "I 
find  that  I  must  go  to  the  British  Museum  to  exam- 
ine some  books.  I  want  to  study  a  little  and  finish 
my  researches  before  I  go  to  Sir  Henry's  on  the 
twelfth." 

"Going  shooting?"  inquired  Valery  from  his  seat 
down  the  table. 

"  Do  you  shot  ven  you  are  there?  "  inquired  Made- 
moiselle. 

"I  carry  a  gun  generally,"  answered  Miss  Jennings 
in  a  carelessly  superior  tone. 

"  And  leave  the  secretary  to  do  the  writing,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Valery,  "Is  that  the  way  books  are 
made?"  and  then,  waiting  for  no  answer,  "Who  are 
you  going  gunning  for?  Ought  to  be  Bruno.  See 
now,  Bruno  " — stretching  his  neck  an  inch  from  its 
covering,  like  a  turtle  overburdened  with  fat — "  how 
you  are  frightening  Miss  Muffett  away  by  the  whole- 
sale." 

"I  cannot  see  what  I  have  to  do  with  the  exodus," 


112  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

said   St.  Aubin,   carefully  dissecting  an  artichoke. 
"  What  a  wretched  apology  for  a  vegetable  this  is ! " 

"  Why,  Bruno,  dear ! "  replied  Madame  in  a  plain- 
tive tone.  "  I  had  Jeannot  cook  them  especially  for 
you.     You  are  always  asking  for  them." 

"A  very  poor  way  to  eat  a  very  good  sauce,"  re- 
marked Valery.     "  Hand  me  the  artichokes,  Charles." 

Meanwhile  the  dinner  passed  at  Quentin's  end  of 
the  table,  to  him,  as  if  it  were  a  dream.  He  said  but 
little,  listening  while  Alise,  as  he  called  her  in  his 
thoughts,  discussed  politics,  English,  French,  and 
Eussian,  and  the  church,  Protestant  and  Catholic, 
with  Lord  Eldon. 

"When  Alixe,  looking  at  Madame,  arose  simultane- 
ously with  her,  and  was  escorted  by  Lord  Eldon  to 
the  salon,  and  Quentin  had  deposited  the  Baroness 
there  also,  he  returned  to  the  dining-room,  to  find 
that  the  men  servants  had  finished  withdrawing  the 
cloth.  The  wine  was  placed  at  one  end  of  the  table. 
Lord  Eldon  moved  into  Madame' s  vacant  seat  next 
the  Count,  and  the  others  closed  up  the  spaces,  by 
placing  themselves  in  the  seats  left  empty. 

The  conversation,  which  was  resumed  by  Lord  El- 
don, was  of  the  loss  of  the  Atlantic  steamer. 

"  I  read  the  account  in  the  train  as  I  was  coming 
down  here,"  said  he.  "I  did  not  mention  it  to  your 
wife,  because  you  asked  me  not  to,  or  else  you  asked 
Madame,  I  forget  which;  but  don't  you  think  it  a 
very  singular  thing?  The  weather  has  been  particu- 
larly good  all  this  month.  There  has  been  no  fog 
reported,  and  no  other  steamer  reports  a  collision. 
They  found,  I  believe,  part  of  one  of  the  boats,  piece 
of  the  bow  with  the  letters  ' — cean  Mona — '  That 
proves  it  without  doubt  to  be  the  Ocean  Monarch, 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  113 

for  whose  arrival  the  owners  have  been  looking  for 
the  last  two  weeks." 

St.  Aubin  moistened  his  dry  lips. 

"Ice,  probably,"  he  said  huskily. 

"  The  brute ! "  said  Quentin  to  himself.  "  To  care 
for  any  other  woman  in  the  world." 

He  glanced  at  the  priest,  whose  elbow  was  resting 
on  the  table,  his  eyes  shaded  by  his  hand.  Suddenly 
Halle  raised  his  head,  poured  out  and  drank  off  a 
petit  verre,  then  another,  in  such  rapid  haste  that  he 
coughed  and  strangled  as  the  clear  liquid  ran  down 
his  throat. 

"You're  a  good  son  of  the  church.  Father  Bob," 
said  Valery,  laughing  and  patting  Halle  on  the  back. 
"See  how  accustomed  they  are  to  liquor.  They 
never  drink  at  all,  you  know,  at  least  not  in  public; " 
this  with  a  sly  wink  at  Lord  Eldon. 

"The  exception  proves  the  rule/'  said  Lord  Eldon. 
"  Verbum  sat  sapienti " 

"Let  him  alone,  can't  you,  Valery?  There's  noth- 
ing worse  than  having  liquor  go  the  wrong  way." 

" Faith,  I  believe  you,  Bruno,"  said  Valery.  "  And 
that's  down  somebody  else's  throat." 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  Eldon,"  said  St.  Aubin,  "I 
will  withdraw;  I  have  had  a  very  fatiguing  trip," 

"Went  to  Soutliampton,  didn't  you?"  asked  Va- 
lery in  an  inquisitive  tone.  "  The  second  time  since 
the  Daniellis  left,  isn't  it?  " 

"  No,  only  the  first.  Yes,  yes.  I  went  to  South- 
ampton. How  you  do  keep  harping  on  my  going  to 
Southampton.  One  would  think  no  one  ever  went  to 
Southampton  before.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  thousands 
of  people  go  to  Southampton  every  year,  and  why  my 

going  should  be  considered  at  all  pecu " 

8 


114  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Valery  looked  up  at  St.  Aubin  in  astonisliment. 

" Higiity-tighty,  we  are  touchy!  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  you,  Bruno?  " 

"Bruno!"  said  Halle,  in  a  tone  which  had  an 
undercurrent  of  warning  in  it. 

"I  remained  in  England  a  fortnight  after — 
after " 

"  Mamasha  said  you  were  going  to  stay  with  Lord 
Eldon,  that  you  told  her  so,"  said  Valery. 

"She  must  have  misunderstood  me,"  said  St. 
Aubin,  glancing  in  an  embarrassed  manner  at  Lord 
Eldon' s  surprised  face.  "I  went  to  look  at  some 
chemical  works.  I  think  of  investing  in  them,  buy- 
ing some  stock— they  are  making  great  improve- 
ments in " 

"Sending  good  money  after  bad,"  said  Valery. 

"What  is  it,  Charles?"  said  St.  Aubin,  to  the  ser- 
vant who  had  been  standing  behind  him  for  some  mo- 
ments and  was  at  that  moment  first  observed  by  him. 

"A  person  to  see  you.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said 
Charles  in  a  low  tone. 

"  What !  Wlio  can  it  be  at  this  hour?  My  God, 
Bruno!"  The  priest  arose  in  apparent  agitation; 
every  trace  of  color  had  left  his  face. 

"  Hush !  "  said  St.  Aubin,  "  I  will  go  and  see."  He 
laid  his  arm  round  Halle's  shoulder.  "  You  had  bet- 
ter come  away  yourself,  perhaps.  He  is  not  well, 
Valery " 

"He  said,  sir,"  began  Charles. 

"  What  the  devil  is  it  to  you  what  he  said?  "  began 
St.  Aubin.  "You  are  forgetting  your  manners.  I 
will  come  out  to  him." 

Halle  arose  and  joined  St.  Aubin  and  the  two 
passed  out  of  the  door  together. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  115 

"  Queer ! "  said  Valery,  looking  after  them. 

"Only  a  workman,  monsieur,"  said  Charles,  who 
loved  to  appear  to  know  all  that  went  on  at  the 
chateau. 

"  A  workman !  I  thought  it  was  a  message  about 
those  unfortunate  people.  I  never  saw  Halle  so  up- 
set. He  can't  be  well.  They  have  been  after  him 
with  a  pretty  sharp  stick  up  there  in  Paris." 

" He  looks  worse  than  I  have  ever  seen  him,"  re- 
marked Monsieur  le  Maurier,  who  was  credited  with 
being  a  secret  partner  in  the  firm  of  one  of  the  most 
prominent  of  Parisian  journals.  He  then  began  to 
tell  all  that  he  knew  of  the  loss  of  the  Ocean  Mon- 
arch. He  piled  horror  on  horror,  until  Quentin 
turned  away,  sick  at  heart.  As  he  arose,  he  heard 
Valery  say  to  Lord  Eldon : 

"Can  there  really  be  anything  in  the  story  that 
Ada  Spencer  is  telling,  of  Bruno's  infatuation  for 
Virginia  Danielli?"  Lord  Eldon's  answer  he  did 
not  catch,  for  he  had  crossed  the  room  and  was  in 
the  grand  salon. 


When  St.  Aubin  and  the  priest  emerged  upoii  the 
terrace,  they  walked  toward  the  chalet. 

"Where  is  the  man,  Pierre  Monrouge? "  called  the 
Count. 

"I  am  here.  Monsieur,"  said  a  voice  from  out  the 
shadow.  A  form  arose  and  came  out  from  under  the 
recess  formed  by  the  chalet  pillars.  The  man  wore 
the  blouse  of  a  workman. 

"Oh,  it  is  you,  Guerin,"  said  Halle.  He  drew  a 
long  breath,  which  was  half  a  sigh  of  relief.  "I 
thought  it  might  be " 

"Never  mind  what  you  thought,"  said  St.  Aubin. 
"You  are  losing  your  mind.  Bob.  You  talk  too 
much.  You  must  control  yourself  better.  If  you 
do  not  think  of  yourself,  think  of  me —  Well, "  turn- 
ing to  the  workman,  "  what  have  you  to  say  to  the 
Count?  " 

"  I  have  something  for  the  Count,"  said  the  man  in 
a  clear  tone  of  voice,  whose  owner  was  plainly  con- 
scious of  nothing  that  he  wished  to  conceal. 

"Don't  roar  so,  my  good  man.  There!  There! 
Give  it  to  me." 

"The  Father  promised  me  that  I  should  see  the 
Count  this  time,"  said  the  stranger,  looking  at 
Halle. 

"The   Count  is  engaged  with  guests,"   said   St. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  117 

Aubin.  "  Why  did  not  you  send  for  the  Father  here, 
instead  of  sending  into  the  table  for  the  Count?  " 

"He  said  that  he  would  see  me  when  I  came 
again,"  said  the  man  doggedly.  "You  said  so,  Fa- 
ther. I  want  to  ask  him  about  a  little  i)atch  of 
ground " 

"I  will  carry  your  message  to  him,"  said  St. 
Aubin,  "and  send  the  Father  back  with  the  an- 
swer." 

"It  is  always  the  same,"  said  the  man  turning 
impatiently  away ;  "  they  always  say  that  he  is  away 
or  engaged.  It  is  a  small  patch  of  ground  which 
adjoins  a  bit  of  my  wife's " 

"  If  you  will  write  it  down  and  send  it  here  to  the 
Count,  I  will  see  that  he  gets  it  and  that  he  sends 
an  answer,"  said  St.  Aubin. 

"And  my  payment  for  the  little  springs " 

"I  will  pay  for  them,"  said  St.  Aubin  at  once. 
"Eun  to  my  room,  Bob.  You  will  find  some  loose 
change  in  my  pockets,  and  some  notes  in  the  secre- 
taire." 

"The  work  is  very  incomplete,"  said  the  man  as 
Halle  walked  away.  "I  cannot  see  how  it  can  be 
of  use  to  the  Count  as  it  is,  because " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it  is  incomplete,  my  good  man, 
but  you  have  not  seen  the  door  on  which  the  Count 
wishes  to  use  it.  You  know  he  is  quite  an  inventor, 
our  Count,  and  you  will  not  have  to  use  it.  It  will 
be  properly  arranged  by  the  Count  himself." 

"If  the  monsieur  allow,  I  should  like  some  food," 
said  the  man  humbly.  "I  have  walked  a  long  dis- 
tance to  arrive  at  this  time,  as  I  was  ordered." 

" It  is  true,"  said  St.  Aubin.  "  But  the  Count  told 
the  Father,  I  thought,  to  meet  you  this  evening,  in 


118  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Paris — he  could  not  get  away.  Mamaslia  is,  as  Val- 
ery  says,  a  spoil-sport."  He  said  these  last  words 
to  Halle,  whose  footsteps  sounded  near. 

"Why  didn't  you  take  the  train  and  go  to  Paris  as 
I  told  you?"  said  Halle.  "I  have  been  waiting  for 
your  petit  bleu." 

"  It  costs  money  to  go  to  Paris,  Father,  and  I  did 
not  know  if  the  Count  would  be  willing  to  pay 
for " 

"  Not  so  loud,  my  man.  It  was  distinctly  under- 
stood, Guerin,  that  you  were  to  take  the  train  and 
go  to  Paris  and  that  I  was  to  meet  you  in  the  Hue 
Vaugirard.     You  were  to  telegraph  me " 

"People  are  lost  in  the  great  city,"  said  Guerin. 

"  Yes,  that  is  exactly  why  I  told  you  to — but  what 
is  the  use  of  talking  to —  Which  road  did  you  take 
to  come  here?  " 

"  The  South  road.  Father,  along  by  the  great  farm 
of  Monsieur  d'Alben,  and  so  round  by  Pontarles.  It 
is  a  long  walk.     It  took  me  two  hours  and  over." 

"And  the  trip  to  Paris  would  have  taken  you  but 
little  more,  and  you  would  have  seen  Paris.  Did 
any  one  know  you  were  coming  here?  " 

"No,  Father." 

"  Your  tongue  will  be  the  death  of  you,  Bob,  not  to 
speak  of  some  one  much  more  important.  Tell  Eu- 
gene to  get  this  man  some  food.  He  can  eat  it  here 
and  then  be  off." 

"I  could  go  to  the  kitchen,  monsieur,"  suggested 
the  man.  "  It  does  not  become  me  to  allow  the  mon- 
sieur to  order  a  servant  to  wait  on  me;  I,  a  poor 
ouvrier " 

"Don't  moralize,  my  man.  They  are  all  busy  in 
there.     We  have  a  great  houseful  to-night.     Eat  and 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  119 

drink,  and  then  start  back  upon  your  road.  Who  is 
that?  " 

"  I  am  only  enjoying  the  night,  Monsieur  le  Comte. " 

"And  this  is  Monsieur  le  Comte!"  said  the  work- 
man turning  to  St.  Aubin  in  astonishment. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  Halle  in  a  low  tone.  "  This  is 
another  Count,  the  Count  of — but  what  matter  to 
you?  Eat  and  drink,  my  good  man,  and  be  off.  You 
have  made  your  little  springs  very  well,  but  see  that 
you  do  not  talk  about  them.  When  there  is  much 
talk  of  Kevenants,  and  one  buys  a  little  spring  to 
close  a  door  against  the  spirits " 

"Good  heavens,  Halle!  Will  you  never  silence 
that  tongue  of  yours?  Give  him  his  money  and  let 
him  go."  These  words  from  St.  Aubin  were  said  in 
Italian.  Halle  put  some  money  into  the  man's  hand, 
at  which  the  latter  looked  down  in  surprise. 

"  It  was  to  be  only  ten  francs,  and  the  Father  has 
given  me  a  louis." 

"Nom  de  Dieu,  man!  Have  you  no  pity  for  my 
nerves,  you  with  your  eternal  clack  and  cavilling?  Is 
it  not  enough?  Most  men  would  be  glad  to  get  twice 
what  they  have  earned.  I  pay  you  this  because  the 
Count  has  no  place  to  offer  you  within  the  chateau." 

"A  very — remarkably — honest — man."  It  was  le 
Maurier's  voice.  "  Why  should  he  be  paid  twice  what 
he  has  earned.  Count?  That  is  where  you  rich  peo- 
ple spoil  the  market  for  us  poorer  ones " 

"It  is  only  because  we  cannot  take  him  in  to- 
night," said  St.  Aubin.  "  He  can  pay  for  his  lodging 
at  some  auberge ; "  and  then,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Send 
him  off.  Bob,  my  nerves  are  on  edge." 

St.  Aubin  went  hurriedly  toward  the  chalet  and 
Halle  waited  to  watch  the  man  eat  his  food  and  drink 


120  THE  AECHBISHOP  AKD  THE  LAJ3Y 

his  wine,  and  to  see  him  out  of  the  enclosure ;  while 
le  Maurier  paced  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  con- 
cerned apparently  with  the  doubtful  beauty  of  the 
night.  The  moon  was  bright  and  wonderful  at  one 
moment,  clouds  covering  its  face  at  the  next.  When 
the  man  had  finished  his  meal,  and  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge  had  let  him  out  of  the  gate,  Halle  followed 
St.  Aubin  toward  the  chalet.  Le  Maurier  stood  near 
the  grille  as  the  workman  walked  away.  One  could 
hear  his  heavy  shoes  clumping  as  he  moved  off  to 
the  right,  away  from  the  direction  of  Moncousis. 
When  Halle  had  disappeared,  and  Pierre  Monrouge 
had  cleared  away  the  workman's  plate  and  glass,  Mr. 
le  Maurier  looked  about  him.  The  door  into  the 
salon  was  open,  and  within  there  was  music,  and 
sweet  low  talking,  and  laughter,  and  a  glow  of  light, 
which  made  any  movement  on  the  terrace  impossible 
to  discern.  He  stepped  close  to  the  grille,  unfast- 
ened it  quietly,  then  opened  the  door,  and  closing  it 
softly,  he  proceeded  swiftly  down  the  valley  away 
from  the  direction  of  Moncousis,  as  had  the  me- 
chanic. 

Le  Maurier  was  gone  for  an  hour  or  more.  When 
he  gave  the  bell  handle  a  gentle  twitch,  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge came  sleepily  and  opened  it.  Monsieur  le 
Maurier 's  face  had  a  satisfied  expression  as  he  en- 
tered and  was  informed  that  all  the  guests,  as  well  as 
the  family,  had  retired.  He  did  not  tell  Pierre  Mon- 
rouge not  to  mention  his  late  walk,  that  would  im- 
press it  upon  his  mind.  He  slipped  in  through  the 
kitchen  door.  He  crept  softly  to  his  bed  in  the  new 
part  of  the  chateau,  and  laid  himself  down  with  a 
smile  upon  his  lips,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  "  the  just 
man  made,"  in  his  own  mind,  almost  "perfect." 


XI. 


That  night,  before  Quentin  slept,  lie  experienced 
some  strange  sensations.  He  heard  noises  and  mys- 
terious whispers,  and  once  or  twice  he  thought  that 
he  heard  near  footfalls  whose  sound  was  carefully 
subdued,  but  on  sitting  up  in  his  bed  and  lighting 
his  short  candle  end,  he  found  that  he  was  quite 
alone.  He  went  into  the  dressing  room,  and  pene- 
trated still  further  into  the  closet,  but  there  he  found 
no  cause  for  these  investigations.  The  wind,  coming 
from  he  knew  not  where,  extinguished  his  candle. 
He  relighted  it;  again  he  was  left  in  darkness.  He 
then  scratched  a  match  and  held  the  flame  close  to 
the  candle,  when  by  its  light  he  saw  that  the  wick  was 
at  an  end,  though  there  was  still  an  inch  or  two  of  the 
wax  left.  He  searched  for  another  candle,  but  though 
he  scratched  matches  without  number,  he  could  not 
discover  one  of  the  half  dozen  which  he  had  noticed 
the  evening  before  when  he  had  dressed  for  dinner. 
Things  began  to  look  careless  or  serious,  he  knew  not 
which.  He  threw  his  window  wide.  The  open  half 
flew  back  and  struck  against  the  vines  of  the  balcony. 
The  moon  streamed  palely  in,  but  made  the  corners 
of  the  room  only  darker  than  before.  He  pulled  to 
the  door  between  the  rooms,  but  now,  with  an  ac- 
knowledged chill  in  his  bones,  so  that  after  begin- 
ning to  undress,  he  went  over  and  bolted  it.     He 


122  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

then  returned  to  the  window  and  looked  across  at  the 
ruins.  He  fancied  that  he  saw  something  moving 
outside  the  walls.  He  turned  and  glanced  at  the 
second  story  of  the  chateau.  There  was  a  bright  light 
there,  and  he  saw  that  a  figure  was  pacing  up  and 
down,  up  and  down.  Sometimes  the  hands  and  arms 
were  raised  to  heaven,  showing  grotesque  and  gigan- 
tic upon  the  white  shade.  Sometimes  the  head  was 
bowed  upon  the  breast  in  the  attitude  which  beto- 
kens despair.  Was  this  a  ghostly  visitant  too?  Was 
this  the  room  where  the  Lady  Abbess  was  said  to 
walk?  Suddenly  Quentin  felt  a  blast  of  cold  air  upon 
his  back.  He  turned.  The  door  which  he  had  bolted 
was  slowly  opening.  The  room  was  dark  and  the 
room  beyond  that  darker  still.  He  heard  again  the 
whispering  noise  and  then  a  long-drawn  sigh;  an 
unmistakable  sigh.  Quentin,  who  had  ever  been 
a  sceptic  of  the  truth  of  appearances  supernatural, 
began  to  believe  that,  at  last,  he  was  to  be  convinced 
as  to  their  reality.  He  went  to  his  bed,  and,  with 
an  effort,  he  succeeded  in  pushing  the  great  old-fash- 
ioned piece  of  furniture  across  the  room.  He  planted 
it  against  the  door  which  he  had  again  closed  and 
then  lay  down.  As  he  lay  there,  he  heard  some- 
thing moving  in  the  dressing  room.  There  were 
rustlings  against  the  further  panels,  but  he  was 
determinedly  collecting  his  thoughts  for  slumber, 
when  suddenly  there  came  three  raps  upon  his 
outer  door. 

Quentin  sprang  up,  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
The  blackness  of  utter  darkness  greeted  him,  for  the 
lantern  was  out. 

He  stood  there  for  a  moment,  irresolute,  peering 
down  the  black  stairway. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  123 

"  Well?  Well?  "  lie  sliouted.  "  What  is  it?  Who 
ia  it?  " 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  more,  and  then  he 
heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock  of  the  opposite  door, 
and  some  one  call,  "Who  is  there?  "  At  the  same 
time  St.  Aubin  threw  his  door  open. 

He  stood  there,  a  small,  yellow  creature,  in  a  suit 
of  night  clothes  as  yellow  as  himself.  He  held  a 
lighted  candle  which  shed  a  feeble  glow  upon  his 
figure. 

"It  is  I,"  said  Quentin.  "I  heard  a  rap  at  my 
door  and  thought  it  was " 

"  It  is  too  bad  for  Mamasha  to  put  you  in  those 
rooms,  Mr.  Quentin,"  said  St.  Aubin.  "She  always 
plays  that  trick  upon  strangers  to  convince  herself, 
through  them,  I  believe,  of  the  truth.  No  friend  is 
too  sacred  for  Mamasha's  sacrificial  altar.  The  wind 
is  never  tempered  to  her  shorn  lambs.  Has  she  told 
you  nothing  about  those " 

"  She  asked  me  if  I  was  nervous.  I  am  not  partic- 
ularly nervous,  but  I  should  be  glad  to  get  some 
sleep.  It  must  be  quite  late.  I  shouldn't  mind  if 
I  could  sleep  through  it." 

"Ah!  That's  what  I  am  afraid  j^ou  cannot  do," 
said  St.  Aubin.  "If  you  will  come  to  my  rooms  I 
will  give  you  my  bed.  I  often  sleep  in  a  chair.  Fa- 
ther Halle  is  snoring  in  beyond  there  like  a  good  son 
of  the  church  with  a  quiet  conscience.  My  third  room 
is  full  of  bottles,  or  I  would  go  in  there  myself,  but  I 
have  only  two  beds ;  you  are  welcome  to  mine " 

Quentin,  ashamed  to  show  so  much  appearance  of 
nervousness  as  to  accept  this  ofi^ered  asylum  from  St. 
Aubin,  or  to  dislodge  him  from  his  bed,  laughed, 
saying : 


124  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY         | 

"Oh,  no!  I  don't  mind.  It  was  probably  my 
imagination. " 

"  No, "  said  St.  Aubin.  "  It  wasn't  that,  I  am  afraid. 
Good  night  then.  I  must  really  speak  seriously  to 
Mamasha  about  this  to-morrow.  Mamasha  is  a  very 
charming  little  person,  but  she  will  sacrifice  her  best 
and  dearest  for  a  mystery.  Good  night,"  and  St. 
Aubin  closed  his  door,  rather  more  quickly,  Quentin 
thought,  than  necessary.  He  heard  the  key  turn  with 
a  feeling  of  desolation  and  returned  from  the  chilly 
landing  to  his  own  room  and  bolted  his  door,  and 
then  he  remembered  that  he  might  have  asked  the 
Count  for  a  candle,  but  he  was  ashamed  to  disturb 
him  again,  and  so  lay  down.  Again  he  heard  some 
raps  underneath  his  bed  and  others  upon  the  outer  I 

door,  and  once  he  heard  a  low  laugh  behind  the  door, 
at  the  head  of  his  bed,  then  came  one  tremendous 
blow  upon  the  panel,  a  thump  heavy  enough,  he 
thought,  to  crush  it  in,  then  all  disturbing  sounds 
ceased,  and  he  fell  asleep. 


xn. 

When  Quentin  awoke  it  was  broad  day.  He  found, 
on  consulting  his  watch,  that  it  was  nearly  eight 
o'clock.  Arising,  he  pushed  his  bed  back  into  place, 
and  then  opened  the  door  into  the  dressing  room. 
Within,  all  was  as  he  had  left  it  the  night  before. 
He  went  into  the  further  room.  A  gust  of  air  re- 
minded him  of  the  staircase.  Suddenly  he  decided 
to  descend  it.  The  door  at  the  bottom  was  not  bolted, 
but  it  was  locked,  and  the  key  had  been  withdrawn. 
Puzzled  by  this,  Quentin  ascended  the  staircase 
again,  took  his  bath,  then  returned  to  his  room  and 
dressed. 

He  came  out  on  to  the  landing  just  as  St.  Aubin 
emerged  from  his  room  on  the  other  side.  A  feeling 
of  pity  for  the  man  arose  within  his  breast,  he  was 
so  unlike  the  rest  of  the  human  race.  He  answered 
the  Count's  greeting  and  followed  the  short  mis- 
shapen figure  down  the  stairs.  The  trellissed  alcove 
was  bare  of  guests,  the  table  unset.  As  he  neared 
the  chateau,  he  saw  that  there  were  many  travelling 
boxes  standing  near  the  gate,  but  within  the  great 
dining  room  no  one  was  visible.  Following  St.  Au- 
bin's  lead,  Quentin  passed  through  this  room  and 
found  himself  in  a  much  smaller  apartment,  which 
he  now  saw  for  the  first  time.  Here  people  were  sit- 
ting about  at  small  tables  drinking  their  early  coffee, 


126  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

whicli  the  men  servants  were  banding,  and  eating  the 
usual  light  meal  which  is  customary  in  France. 
There  was  a  balcony  outside.  There  Quentin  pene- 
trated, and  found  several  of  the  guests  taking  their 
breakfast  in  the  bright  morning  sunshine.  Among 
them  were  Lord  Eldon  and  Madame.  Madame  wore 
a  round  hat  and  a  veil,  which  hung  loosely  downward 
and  met  the  filmy  lace  of  the  scarf  that  encircled  her 
throat.     Alixe  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"Ah!  there  you  are,"  called  Madame  brightly. 
"Come  over  here,  my  friend,  and  tell  me  how  you 
slept." 

"Not  well,  I  fear,"  said  St.  Aubin,  who  had  halted 
at  Madame's  elbow.  "You  call  Mr.  Quentin  your 
friend,  Mamasha,  and  yet  you  put  him  in  the  room 
at  the  head  of  the  chalet  stairs."  St.  Aubin's  words 
were  spoken  in  italics,  as  it  were. 

"I  have  always  thought  it  half  imagination,"  said 
Madame  a  little  shamefacedly.  "Were  you  dis- 
turbed, Mr.  Quentin?" 

Quentin  was  able  to  laugh  carelessly. 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I  had  not  slept?  "  he  asked. 

Lord  Eldon  scrutinized  him  carefully.  In  Quen- 
tin's  fine  color  and  thoroughly  rested  look,  he  per- 
ceived no  sign  of  nervousness. 

"Will  you  change  your  rooms  and  come  over  to  the 
chateau?  "  asked  Madame,  with  almost  a  tender  note 
in  her  voice.  "  You  see  that  presently  we  shall  have 
any  amount  of  room." 

Quentin  glanced  in  at  the  open  French  window. 
In  almost  every  instance  the  women  wore  travelling 
dresses  and  bonnets,  and  most  of  the  men  were  in 
rough  tweed  suits  with  alpine  or  straw  hats  lying 
close  at  hand.     Had  Quentin  needed  to  be  told  that 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  127 

there  was  to  be  an  exodus  that  morning,  that  fact  had 
already  been  openly  confided  to  him  through  the 
piles  of  luggage  which  had  been  seen  on  the  terrace. 
He  thought  that  he,  of  all  Madame's  guests,  had  the 
best  reason  for  a  sudden  departure,  but  he  determined 
to  remain  at  the  Abbey  for  the  length  of  time  for 
which  he  had  originally  been  invited,  even  though  no 
one  had  so  much  cause  to  take  flight  as  himself,  for, 
whether  there  had  or  had  not  been  manifestations  of 
a  supernatural  character,  he  was  willing  to  endure  a 
recurrence  of  them  only  so  that  he  might  fill  out  his 
allotted  time  at  I'Abbaye  de  Bref. 

"What  happened?"  asked  Lord  Eldon.  "Any- 
thing really  authentic?  You  know  I  belong  to  the 
Psychical  Research  Society,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to 
report  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  Society  if  you  will  give 
it  to  me  in  writing.  Any  witnesses,  corroborative 
evidence,  and  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

"Don't,  Lord  Eldon!"  exclaimed  Madame.  "It 
will  aid  only  in  giving  the  chateau  a  bad  name. " 

"  But  in  the  interests  of  science,  dear  lady " 

"Why  shouldn't  people  know?"  said  St.  Aubin. 
"I'm  sure  you  do  your  best  to  let  them  know,  Ma- 
masha.  The  place  is  haunted  beyond  a  doubt.  If 
Eldon  is  sceptical,  he  had  better  change  rooms  for 
the  night  with  Mr.  Quentin." 

"  Eather  allow  me  to  occupy  one  of  Mr.  Quentin's 
rooms,"  said  the  rosy  little  gentleman.  He  rubbed 
his  hands.  "I  should  enjoy  it  immensely.  I  have 
never  seen  or  heard  anything  of  the  kind,  though  j^ou 
know  the  blue  room  at  Eldon  Towers  is  said  to  be 
haunted. " 

"You  could  not  share  Quentin's  rooms,"  said  St. 
Aubin  decidedly.      "  In  the  first  place   they  are  too 


128  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

cramped  for  any  one  man  as  they  are,  and  in  the 
second  place  the  things,  whatever  they  are,  never 
appear  to  two  persons  at  the  same  time.  You  must 
be  alone." 

Madame  allowed  her  head  to  fall  backward,  she 
looked  up  out  of  veil-screened  eyes  at  Quentin. 
"What  did  you  see?"  she  asked  in  an  undertone, 
and  then  added  penitently,  "  Do  forgive  me. " 

"I  saw  nothing,  nothing  at  all,  I  assure  you." 
Quentin's  tone  was  cold.  Whatever  the  cause  of  his 
discomfiture  on  the  previous  night,  he  had  gathered 
from  the  Count  that  Madame  had  expected  it,  and 
that  she  had  not  been  unwilling  to  make  him  a  vic- 
tim to  her  curiosity. 

"  And  you  heard " 

"A  few  raps  perhaps,  but  nothing  else.  Any  one 
could  have  done  that.  A  person  standing  underneath 
the  floor  of  my  room  in  the  recess  where  we  break- 
fast, could  amuse  himself  and  frighten  a  nervous 
person  by  the  hour,  if  only  he  had  a  pole  that  was 
long  enough.  Fortunately,  I  am  not  a  nervous  per- 
son  " 

"Did  not  the  door  open?  "  asked  St.  Aubin. 

"Who  told  you  that,  Count?"  asked  Quentin 
quickly. 

"You  told  me  yourself." 

"No,"  said  Quentin,  "I  don't  think  I  did.  I 
couldn't  have  done  so.  It  did  not  occur  until  after 
I  went  back  to  my  room,  and  I " 

"  Well,  well,  then,  this  morning  as  we  came  over  to 
the  chateau." 

Quentin  was  quite  certain  that  he  had  not  men- 
tioned the  fact,  though  he  now  thought  that  it  had 
occurred  before  he  opened  his  room  door. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADZ  129 

"  But  even  if  you  had  not  told  me,  I  should  have 
known  it.  It  is  one  of  Mamasha's  expected  things 
that  always  happen." 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  Madame,  sotto  voce,  sending 
her  glance  swiftly  round  the  listening  group. 

"You  needn't  mind  us,  Mamasha,"  called  Miss 
Spencer  familiarly.  "We  all  know  those  alluring 
stories,  but  we  are  much  more  afraid  of  the  living 
than  we  are  of  the  dead ; "  this  with  a  sidewise  glance 
at  St.  Aubin,  parting  retribution  for  some  earlier  real 
or  fancied  slight. 

"A  few  harmless  chemicals,"  said  he,  with  a  short 
laugh.  "I  had  a  little  accident  once,  Quentin,  and 
the  dear  old  ladies  never  let  me  forget  it.  I  haven't 
had  one  for  years." 

"  If  we  get  away  without  another,  I,  for  one,  shall 
be  happy,"  returned  Miss  Spencer  spitefully.  Being 
classed  with  the  dear  old  ladies  was  too  much  for  her 
equanimity.  "I  admit  that  it  was  not  so  bad  au 
accident  as  that  of  the  Ocean  Monarch." 

St.  Aubin  turned  his  back  on  the  speaker  and  said 
hastily  to  Madame,  "Where  is  Alixe  this  morning, 
Mamasha?  " 

"She  is  in  bed,"  replied  Madame.  "She  had  a 
sleepless  night,  at  least  she  says  so,  but  it  is  my 
exi)erience  that  people  sleep  much  more  than  they 
think  they  do.  Now  I,  who  never  really  close  my 
eyes  before  three  or  four  in  the  morning " 

"  Oh,  Mamasha !  what  a  bad  conscience  you  must 
have,"  said  Bruno  with  playful  earnestness. 

"She  said  that  she  could  see  no  one,"  continued 

Madame,  ignoring  Bruno's  remark.     "  But  likely  as 

not,  if  I  go  up  there,  she  will  be  off  among  the  hills. 

She  may  be  miles  away  by  this  time.     Alixe  is  a 

9 


130  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

great  walker.  She  heard  in  some  way  late  last  night 
about  the  Daniellis." 

"Heavens!  how  you  do  harp  on " 

"  She  can  shut  herself  within  the  iron  doors  of  the 
Abbess's  room,"  continued  Madame,  drowning  St. 
Aubin's  reproof,  "and  no  one  can  disturb  her.  Some 
people  are  so  selfish  in  their  grief.  I  loved  Virginia 
Danielli  as  if  she  were  my  own  chi — niece,  but  for 
me  I  must  always  go  about  wearing  a  smiling  mask 
before  the  world." 

"  Oh,  ze  heartless  whorl ! "  commented  the  Bar- 
oness, who  was  gazing  up  at  St.  Aubin  as  if  begging 
him  to  spare  her  life  yet  another  day. 

Here  Charles  appeared  at  the  window  opening 
upon  the  balcony. 

"  The  landau  and  the  char-a-bancs  are  at  the  door, 
Madame." 

"And  my  boxes?"  chanted  Lady  Barnes,  Miss 
Spencer  and  Miss  Thorndyke  in  a  soprano  chorus. 

"They  are  half  way  to  the  station  by  this  time," 
said  the  Count.     "  I  saw  to  that  myself " 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  so  good  of  you ! "  exclaimed  all 
three,  and  then  looked  at  Bruno  to  see  that  he  had 
obliged  himself  more  than  them.  There  was  the 
bustle  and  stir  of  rising. 

"Must  you  go?"  exclaimed  Madame.  "I  am  so 
sorry.  Alixe  will  be  too.  She  would  wish  me  to  say 
good-bye  to  you  all.  She  cannot  see  you.  She  heard 
only  late  last  night  of  the  loss  of  the  Ocean  Monarch." 

"Mamasha!"  said  Bruno.  "How  you  do  love  to 
sup  full  with  horrors " 

"  And  she  has  not  slept  at  all,  so  she  says.  For 
me,  I  must  always  wear  a  smiling  mask,  etc.,  etc., 
etc." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  131 

Quentin,  as  he  heard  these  words,  thought  that  he 
understood  the  reason  for  the  lonely  light  which  he 
had  seen  in  the  night  time  from  his  window  in  the 
chalet,  and  the  cause  for  the  shadow  upon  the  curtain 
and  the  despairing  march  to  and  fro. 

"She  will  get  over  it,"  said  Valery.  "We  all  have 
to  get  over  these  things.  My  aunt  was  going  out  to 
India,  when  I  was  a  little  chap,  and  she  was  lost. 
She  left  me  a  tidy  little  sum,  the  foundation  of  my 
fortunes,  and  much  as  I  loved  her,  I  was  in  a  meas- 
ure comforted  for  her  loss.  It's  dreadful  to  gain  by 
the  death  of  any  one  who  is  dear  to  you,  but  you 
can't  help  being  more  resigned  than  if  you  get  not 
a  sou  marque.  Isn't  that  so,  Bruno?  Hulloa,  man, 
what's  the  matter?  " 

St.  Aubin  was  staggering  backward,  his  hands  out- 
stretched to  grasp  the  table,  something,  anything, 
that  he  need  not  fall.  He  stumbled  against  a  chair 
and  seated  himself  suddenly,  trembling. 

"It's  pretty  dreadful,"  whispered  Miss  Spencer  to 
Quentin,  "to  wake  up  some  fine  morning  and  find 
that  the  girl  you  love  is  dead,  but  why  one  should 
mourn  departed  friends  when  one  has  a  handsome 
wife  of  one's  own,  and  that  wife  has  a  handsome  for- 
tune of  her  own " 

"Don't  ask  me  to  believe  such  a  thing,"  said  Quen- 
tin.    "  No  one  could  imagine  for  a  moment " 

"  AVell,  I  didn't  until  I  saw  him  last  evening.  Thej'" 
were  here  just  before  they  sailed — the  Daniellis,  I 
mean.  Bruno  did  not  seem  particularh'  attentive  to 
Virginia  then,  but  he  went  off  at  almost  a  moment's 
notice,  and  they  had  a  convenient  telegram  and 
started  the  next  day " 

"The  convenient  telegram  was,  I  believe,  to  the 


132  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

effect  that  a  brother  of  those  people  was  dying. 
There  could  have  been  no  collusion  in  that " 

"  At  all  events  they  happened  to  join  the  steamer 
at  Southampton  in  which  he  had  crossed  from  Ham- 
burg. They  say  that  he  tried  to  get  them  to  wait  for 
the  next  steamer,  but  they  were  set  on  going.  Alixe 
is,  certainly,  with  all  her  faults,  the  least  exigeante 
of  wives.  She  cared  more  for  Virginia  Danielli  than 
for  forty  thousand  Brunos,  and  we  see  how  much  he 
cared  for  Virginia,  as  he  nearly  faints  away  every 
time  her  name  is  mentioned." 

"  One  would  feel  the  loss  of  any  friend  in  that  ter- 
ribly tragic  way,"  said  Quentin.  He  glanced  at  the 
pallid  man  seated  by  the  table  pretending  to  drink 
coffee  from  a  spoon  which  trembled  so  that  the  brown 
liquid  ran  down  upon  his  shirt  front. 

"  But  come ! "  said  Miss  Spencer.  "  I  must  get 
into  the  landau.  I  hate  a  wagonette,  and  they  are 
sure  to  have  one.  I  cannot  ride  backward.  Mama- 
sha  is  sure  to  save  the  pony  chaise,  which  I  dote  on, 
for  that  '  first  ride  together. '  "  She  looked  archly  at 
Quentin,  then  turned  and  rustled  out  through  the 
salon.  At  the  door  she  turned  again  and  laid  her 
well-gloved  hand  on  Quentin's  arm.  "Promise  me 
one  thing,"  she  said.  "Don't,  if  you  love  me,  stay 
in  that  dreadful  chalet  another  night. " 

The  question  of  love  for  Miss  Spencer  had  not 
entered  into  the  mind  of  Quentin  to  conceive,  but  he 
answered  gaily, 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  spirits.  When  they  find  that 
I  do  not " 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  heavenly  spirits,  not  of  ele- 
mentals,  nor  of  those  who  because  of  their  sins  have 
not  been  able  to  get  away  from  the  first  or  inner 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  133 

circle  that  Lord  Eldon  is  always  talking  about,  but 
of  a  very  earthly  spirit,  Christian-named  Bruno.  Be 
careful  how  you  offend  him.  I  wouldn't  sleep  under 
that  roof  with  all  those  chemicals  for  all  the —  Yes, 
yes,  Mary  Thorndyke.  I  am  coming,  save  a  seat  for 
me.  Good-bye,  again!  Come  to  see  me  in  Paris 
when  you  come  up.  Rue  Fran§ois  Premier,  or  better 
still,  meet  me  at  Eldon  Towers.  I  am  going  there  a 
little  later.  Lady  Alfred  is  an  old  friend  of  mine — 
Au  revoir,  in  Paris." 

Quentin  followed  his  voluble  friend  out  on  to  the 
terrace.  As  he  stepped  from  the  salon  to  the  stone 
at  the  door  he  heard  a  faint  shriek.  There  stood  the 
Baroness  pointing  with  her  small  brown  finger  at 
some  demijohns  which  had  been  placed  on  the  ter- 
race while  they  had  been  at  breakfast. 

"  Nitro-glycerine.  I  know  it  is,"  said  Miss  Thorn- 
dyke  in  a  hurried  whisper.  "Come!  dear  Lady 
Barnes.  Let  us  get  into  the  landau  before  they  dis- 
member us  quite." 

St.  Aubin  by  this  time  had  also  appeared  upon  the 
terrace?  His  voice  seemed  to  have  regained  its 
strength. 

"Drive  the  horses  very  slowly,  Pierre  Monrouge," 
he  said  seriously.  "Even  the  rumble  of  the  wheels 
is  apt  to  explode  them,  they  are  so  very  sensitive." 

"  Oh !  "  shrieked  Miss  Jennings  from  the  high  front 
seat  of  the  wagonette  where  she  had  taken  her  place 
by  Eugene.     "  Is  there  no  other  way  to  the  station?  " 

"  Es  fiihrt  keiu  anderen  weg-  nach  Kussnach,"  de- 
clared St.  Aubin,  his  low  spirits  flown  to  the  winds, 
his  face  full  of  a  concealed  amusement. 

"  Wrap  the  horses '  feet  in  dusters  or  somethin<2r," 
screamed  Lady  Barnes.     "  Muffle  them.     Here,  take 


134  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

my  shawl.  The  carriage  robes,  anything — perhaps 
I  could  walk,"  but  Pierre  Monrouge,  at  a  signal  from 
St.  Aubin,  had  started  off,  a  dull  smile  pervading  his 
countenance.  Lad}'  Barnes  was  pulled  down  into  her 
seat  by  Miss  Thorndyke.  She  immediately  thrust 
her  fingers  as  far  within  her  ears  as  her  veil  would 
allow,  and  shrank  into  the  extreme  corner  of  the  car- 
riage until  they  were  a  good  mile  from  the  Abbey. 
"When  the  last  of  the  guests  had  driven  away,  St. 
Aubin  called  to  Charles  to  bring  some  glasses, 

"What  for,  Bruno?"  asked  Madame  anxiously. 
"Don't  try  anything  here,  I  beg  of  you,  Bruno." 

St.  Aubin  was  tugging  at  one  of  the  great  bottles, 
trying  to  raise  it  to  the  table  in  the  recess.  When 
he  had  succeeded,  he  uncorked  the  demijohn.  "  Be 
quick  with  those  glasses,  Charles ! "  he  called  impa- 
tientl3\ 

"  Oh,  Bruno !     Do  not,  I  pray,  I  beg " 

St.  Aubin  tipped  the  neck  of  the  demijohn  and 
filled  one  of  the  glasses  held  ready  by  Charles. 

"Bring  som.e  ice,  Charles.  Have  a  taste,  Mama- 
sha?  No?  It  is  only  Evian,  the  purest  water  I 
believe  that  Switzerland  affords." 

Lord  Eldon  burst  into  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter,  and 
Yalery  doubled  up  like  the  blade  of  a  knife,  and 
chuckled  internally  until  he  was  crimson. 

"Bruno,"  he  said,  "Bruno,  I'll  back  you  to  play  a 
practical  joke  with  Slvlj  man  alive.  Now  we  shall 
have  the  chateau  all  to  ourselves.  Mademoiselle, 
Baroness,  Quentin,  try  some  of  St.  Aubin' s  nitro- 
glycerine." 

"Yes,"  said  St.  Aubin,  "wasn't  it  fortunate  that 
the  coming  of  the  Evian  and  myself  were  simulta- 
neous?" 


xm. 

QUENTIN  bad  seen  nothing  tliat  day  of  the  young 
mistress  of  the  house — as  he  was  now  beginning  to 
consider  her.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned  she  had 
wrapped  herself  within  that  impenetrable  veil  which 
friendship  may  not  unfold,  which  curiosity  may  not 
peep  under,  which  derision  and  scorn  have  no  j)ower 
to  force  aside,  the  mantle  of  the  dignity  of  silence. 
Quentin  played  billiards  with  Valery  all  the  morning 
and  listened  to  his  amusing  comments  on  Madame 's 
aid  in  the  opening  of  his  boxes. 

"She  wants  most  of  the  universe,"  said  Yalery, 
"  but  I  told  her  that  I  should  like  her  to  reserve  a 
few  of  the  ragged  edges  for  Alixe  and  Gartha,  where- 
upon she  sighed.  You  know  that  patient  sigh,  a 
sort  of  put-ufjon  sigh,  that  makes  you  feel  that  you 
have  done  nothing  but  impose  upon  her  from  time 
immemorial,  and  she  said,  'Dear  Valery,  Alixe  and 
Gartha  will  have  everything  after  I  am  gone.'  You 
would  think  Mamasha  a  woman  of  eighty  when  she 
is  trying  to  get  round  the  family,  whereas  she  is  only 
forty-three  at  the  most."  Quentin  gave  a  start.  He 
had  thought  his  friend  perhaps  ten  years  younger. 

Betrayed  into  expressing  himself  by  Valery 's 
frankness  he  exclaimed : 

"  She  can't  be  that !  " 

"AYho?    Mamasha?    Oh,  yes,  she  is.    She's  a  very 


136  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

wonderful-looking  woman,  but  she  is  older  tlian  she 
looks.  Let — me — see,  Mamasha  was  married  at  sev- 
enteen. Oh,  yes,  that's  gospel;  I  know  it,"  seeing 
the  look  of  disbelief  in  Quentin's  eyes.  "My  little 
wife,"  a  wave  of  sadness  passed  over  Yalery's  face  as 
he  said  these  words — "  My  little  wife  was  born  the 
year  after  Mamasha  was  married,  when  Mamasha 
was  eighteen,  in  fact.  Alixe  was  born  when  Mamasha 
was  twenty-four  with  a  few  months  to  the  good. 
Twice  nineteen,  well,  call  Mamasha  about  forty -three. 
Women  have  done  some  fatal  work  when  they  were 
on  the  wrong  side  of  forty.  You  know  about  the 
General;  he  was  probably  Mamasha's  second.  Ma- 
masha's  past  is  shrouded  in  mystery— before  Carle- 
ton,  the  deluge.  It  was  great  enough,  however,  to 
wash  out  any  other  footprints  which  were  traced  in 
Mamasha's  sands  of  time." 

"Carleton?"  said  Quentin  inquiringly.  "Oh, 
yes!  I  remember  you  told  me  something  of  the 
kind. "  He  saw  in  memory  the  white  headstone  which 
contained  the  name  of  Allaire  Carleton.  This  name 
was  now  to  be  explained  by  his  frank  friend. 

"There!  I've  miscued.  You  can't  even  talk  of 
Mamasha,  Quentin,  and  not  get  into  a  scrape.  After 
Mamasha's  second  died,  the  old  General,  you  know  " 
— Quentin  nodded  his  head  understandingly,  and 
chalked  his  cue — "  Lady  Barnes  came  to  congratu — 
I  mean,  condole  with  Mamasha.  Lady  Barnes  had 
been  freed  from  old  Barnes  for  four  or  five  months. 
He  was  a  dreadful  old  rip.  He  had  married  the 
widow  Thatcher.  People  called  her  the  widower 
catcher.  Well,  to  return  to  the  episode.  There!  I 
missed  my  shot." 

Quentin  made  a  bridge  with  his  fingers  and  leaned 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  137 

over  the  table,  apparently  giving  all  his  attention  to 
his  next  stroke. 

"  Well,  the  two  met.  The  one  all  tears  and  gush, 
the  other  all  smiles  and  sympathy.  Mamasha,  they 
say,  sat  smoothing  her  crepe  and  looking  down. 
Alixe,  Mademoiselle  says,  bought  it  for  her  at  fifty- 
five  francs  the  metre.  Well,  there  she  sat,  smoothing 
it  down  and  looking  on  the  floor. 

" '  This  is  the  second  time, '  she  said,  *  the  second 
time. '  The  tears  dropped  on  a  black-bordered  hand- 
kerchief, warranted  to  catch  'em  without  letting  'em 
soak  through  and  spoil  the  cr^pe. 

"Lady  Barnes  smoothed  her  ten-francs-a-metre 
crepe  in  accompaniment  to  Mamasha's  motions.  Old 
Barnes  had  left  her  low  in  funds.  She  looked  up  at 
Mamasha  with  a  hard  bright  smile. 

" '  It  is  the  second  time  with  me,  too,  Annie  Carle- 
ton,  '  she  said,  '  but  I  live  in  the  hope  that  there  may 
be  yet  another.  One  can  do  nothing  but  try,  you 
know!'" 

"I  should  think  Lady  Barnes  would  hardly  try 
again  to  any  purpose, "  said  Quentin,  smiling  at  the 
story. 

"Ah!  but  Mamasha.  There's  the  girl  for  you !  I 
have  a  great  admiration  for  Mamasha.  She  can  fasci- 
nate any  one.  There  was  a  little  American  here 
named  Ware,  a  common  little  outsider.  She  brought 
him  home,  and  made  him  fetch  and  carry  for  her 
until  I  was  absolutely  almost  tempted  to  tell  him 
her  age,  but  Alixe  saved  me  the  trouble.  There !  can 
you  carom  like  that?  Five  cushions  and  the  red 
ball !     Pretty  fair,  I  call  that." 

"What  did  she  do?"  asked  Quentin  breathlessly, 
fearing  to  hear  he  knew  not  what. 


138  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Who?  Alixe?  Why,  she  only  came  home,  that 
was  all.  She  never  looked  at  the  little  beggar  of 
course,  but  after  that  Mamasha's  puddin'  was  all 
dough.  She's  got  a  pretty  level  head,  has  Mamasha, 
with  it  all.  The  only  mistake  she  made  was  marry- 
ing Alixe  to  that  little  inventor  Bruno.  He's  a  good 
enough  fellow,  as  men  go,  but  he's  a  perfect  spend- 
thrift. No  head  at  all !  He  sends  good  money  after 
bad  with  the  greatest  equanimity.  No  fortune  can 
stand  a  strain  like  that,  you  know.  My  little  wife  " 
—a  sigh— "and  Alixe,  were  the  only  children  Mama- 
sha ever  had." 

"  The  only  children !  "  gasped  Quentin,  finding  his 
idol  tottering,  though  he  had  been  almost  assured  in 
his  own  mind  of  the  truth  since  the  morning  in  the 
glade. 

"Yes,  the  only  ones.  Didn't  know  she  was  Al- 
ixe's  mother?  I  declare!  I  had  forgotten  the  little 
fraud  Mamasha  likes  to  practise.  Oh,  yes!  she  is 
my  little  Gartha's  grandmother  straight  enough,  a 
pretty  young-looking  one  you'll  admit." 

"  Yalery  !  Yalery  !  "  It  was  Madame's  sweet  high 
voice.  It  came  from  her  seat  under  the  spreading 
tree  upon  the  terrace. 

"Coming!  Coming,  Mamasha!  Just  knock  the 
balls  about,  will  you,  Quentin,  till  I  get  back.  I 
wouldn't  for  the  world  let  her  know  that  I  told  you. 
I  spoiled  another  little  game  of  hers  once  quite  unin- 
tentionally, not  Harry  Ware — some  one  else  who 
was —  Coming,  coming,  Mamasha ; "  and  Yalery 
ran  out  of  the  room  cue  in  hand. 

Quentin  pushed  the  balls  about  thinking  deeply. 
Meanwhile  he  caught  a  glimpse  through  the  open  door 
of  a  taU  black  figure,  passing  out  of  a  further  entrance. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  139 

It  was  Alixe,  Her  face  looked  drawn  and  sad,  even 
at  that  distance,  and  Quentin  judged  that  she  had 
shed  many  tears.  Had  he  but  known  it,  they  were 
even  now  welling  over  from  her  eyes  and  dropping 
down  upon  her  black  dress.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
heard  Valery's  goodly  sole  crushing  the  gravel  of 
the  terrace.  He  joined  Quentin  with  a  self-satisfied 
air. 

"Now,  if  you  don't  say  anything,  she'll  never 
know  I  told  you,"  was  his  first  remark.  "  She  asked 
me  to  remember  my  promise,  and  I  told  her  I  would. 
She  then  repeated  what  she  has  said  to  me  a  hundred 
times,  that  people  have  said  that  it  was  a  very  unnatu- 
ral marriage,  and  that  she  preferred  to  pose  as  the 
aunt  of  Alixe,  and  let  people  think  she  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  lame  reason 
as  that?  But  I  suppose  it's  all  she  could  think  of. 
Poor  old  Mamasha !  There !  I  miscued  again.  That's 
what  comes  of  talking  of  Mamasha.  She's  sure  to 
get  me  into  a  mess  sooner  or  later." 

Meanwhile  Alixe  had  joined  Madame  on  the  ter- 
race. 

"You  are  a  perfect  fright,  Alixe,"  was  Madame's 
greeting.  "  I  never  saw  any  woman  look  as  ugly  as 
you  do  wh^n  you  cry.  Your  nose  is  all  out  of  shape, 
your  eyelids  are  like  bags,  your " 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  Alixe.  "  It  makes  me  really 
ill  to  cry.     I  hate  to  cry,  but  oh,  mother " 

"  Hush ! "  Madame  looked  quickly  toward  the 
salon  windows. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Alixe.  "I  am  not  considering 
appearances  to-day.  Oh !  To  think  of  it !  Virginia 
dead!  Drowned!  Lost  in  that  dark  cold  water. 
I  shall  never  forget  it.     Never,  never !     I  saw  her  all 


140  THE  AECHBISHOP  A^D  THE  LADY 

last  niglit  holding  up  her  hands.  She  was  holding 
up  her  hands,  my  little  Virginia,  she  was — calling — 
calling " 

"Who?"  asked  St.  Aubin  abruptly.  He  had 
joined  them. 

"Virginia  Danielli,"  answered  Alixe  in  a  heart- 
broken voice.  "She  was  sinking  down,  down  into 
that  icy  sea.  It  was  so  black,  so  black !  The  great 
waves  were  curling  over  her  head,  and  she  was  hold- 
ing up  her  hands.  You  know  what  pretty  hands 
Virginia  had,  Bruno.  She  did  not  turn  to  me.  It 
was  so  strange,  Bruno,  she  turned  to  you  and  begged 
you  to  save  her,  only  to  stretch  out  your  hand,  and 
you  turned  away,  Bruno.  You  would  not.  Oh !  you 
would  not." 

"You  must  have  slept  a  little,  then,  Alixe,"  said 
Madame  impatiently.  "For  that  part  of  it  must 
have  been  a  dream.     Bruno  was  not  within " 

"  No,  no !  It  was  not  a  dream.  A  waking  dream 
if  you  will,  for  I  walked  the  floor  the  long  night 
through.  I  saw  her  ever,  Virginia,  my  one  dear 
friend,  in  that  great  expanse  of  sea.  Bruno  looked 
at  her  so  coldly,  so  sarcastically  almost.  He  did  not 
stretch  out  his  hand — did  not " 

"What!  what!  Bruno?  Alixe,  do  you  think  that 
no  one  has  any  feeling  but  yourself?  Look  at  my 
poor  boy!  Eugene!  Eugene!  Go!  Go!  Some 
brandy,  quick!  quick!  for  heaven's  sake!" 

"Oh!  forgive  me,  Bruno,  forgive  me,"  said  Alixe 
bending  over  the  now  prostrate  man. 

"  You  know  how  weak  his  heart  is,  Alixe.  How 
can  you  be  so  forgetful  of  ever^^one  but " 

"  I  was  thoughtless,  thoughtless ! "  said  Alixe,  al- 
ways ready  to  blame  herself.     "Eun,  Eugene,  run! 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  141 

Oh,  Lord  Eldon,  come !  Come  here !  "  That  noble- 
man hastened  to  the  scene.  His  pocket  flask  was 
uncorked  in  a  moment.  "  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  " 
he  asked. 

No  one  answered  him.  Alixe,  with  her  hat  fallen 
off,  her  pale  face  and  swollen  eyelids  making  sad 
havoc  with  her  young  beauty,  was  rubbing  St.  Au- 
bin's  hands.  Lord  Eldon  forced  some  brandy  down 
his  throat  and  laid  him  gently  prostrate  upon  the 
terrace.  Alixe  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  took  the 
strange  dark  head  in  her  lap.  She  smoothed  the 
crisp  black  hair,  and  put  Madame's  smelling  salts 
to  the  pinched  nostrils.  In  a  moment  St.  Aubin 
opened  his  eyes  and  at  once  struggled  to  arise. 

"No,  no!  You  must  not  try  to  move,  Bruno,"  said 
Alixe  in  a  penitent  tone.  "  You  must  forgive  me. " 
Her  tears  rained  down  afresh  and  fell  upon  his  fore- 
head. "But  you  know  how  I  must  feel.  Virginia 
was  my  friend,  my  only  friend,  and  that  T  should 
lose  her  now,  never,  never  to  see  her  again." 

"  Alixe !  Alixe ! "  cried  Madame  sharply.  "  Have 
you  no  pity  on  the  man?  He  must  feel  it  as  much 
as  you  do.  There!  see  what  your  selfishness  has 
done;"  for  he  had  again  lost  consciousness;  "you 
know  how  delicate  Bruno  has  always  been " 

Valery,  hearing  the  stir,  had  come  out  on  to  the 
terrace.  Quentin  followed,  hesitated,  and  then  stood 
still,  feeling  that  this  was  a  domestic  matter  in  which 
it  was  not  his  place  to  meddle. 

"  HuUoa ! "  exclaimed  Valery  bustling  up.  "  What's 
the  matter?  Fainted?  Welf  I'll  be  blessed  by  the 
devil  if  I  ever  saw  a  man  faint  before." 

St.  Aubin  had  now  opened  his  eyes  again.  He 
saw  only  the  face  of  Alixe  bending  anxiously  above 


142  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

him.  He  rolled  over  and  clutclied  her  gown  with 
his  dark  fingers.  He  buried  his  head  in  the  folds 
of  her  sombre  dress. 

"  Oh,  Alixe !  "  he  cried  aloud.  "  Can  you  forgive 
me?     Can  you  ever  forgive  me?  " 

"Forgive  you  for  what,  Bruno?  It  is  you  who 
should  forgive  me." 

"He  has  lost  his  wits."  It  was  the  voice  of  the 
priest.  "  Get  up,  Bruno.  Let  me  take  you  to  the 
chalet.     Will  you  help  me,  Valery?  " 

St.  Aubin,  sobered  by  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
other  listeners  than  Alixe,  allowed  himself  to  be 
raised  from  the  ground,  and  went  toward  his  own 
rooms,  leaning  on  Valery  and  Father  Halle.  Alixe 
arose  and  followed  them  slowlv. 


XIV. 

QuENTiN  could  not  repress  a  shudder  of  disgust  at 
the  misshapen  and  loosely  hung  figure.  He  turned 
away  with  a  sigh  that  this  should  be  the  clog  which 
tied  Alixe  down  and  would  keep  her  from  happiness 
as  long  as  their  lives  should  last.  He  was  lounging 
aimlessly  toward  the  steps  which  led  down  to  the 
garden  when  Madame  perceived  him.  Lord  Eldon 
had  just  left  her,  and  had  passed  Quentin  going  into 
the  chateau.  So  soon  as  Lord  Eldon  had  disap- 
peared, Madame  beckoned;  Quentin  went  forward 
at  Madame's  summons,  and  joining  her,  he  seated 
himself  by  her  side  on  the  bench  beneath  the  great 
oak  tree. 

"I  must  explain  a  little  to  you,"  said  Madame 
without  preface.  "  I  am  sure  that  I  know  you  well 
enough  to  speak  confidentially  to  you."  She  looked 
affectionately  into  the  eyes  of  her  guest,  and  ended 
with  the  words,  "You  dear!" 

"  That  was  an  awkward  scene  and  a  very  painful 
one,"  she  said.  "I  hardlj^  know  what  to  make  of  it. 
I  never  noticed  that  Bruno  cared  particularly  for  Yir- 
ginia  Danielli.  She  was  the  friend  of  Alixe.  They 
were  inseparable.  She  would  not  have  left  here  but 
that  she  had  received  a  cable  saying  that  her  younger 
brother  was  dying.  He  was  in  California.  Dying, 
they  say,  of  consumption.     Virginia  herself  did  not 


144  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

look  any  too  strong.  I  first  suspected  Bruno's  fancy 
for  Yirginia  when  I  found  that  they  had  crossed  in 
the  same  steamer  to  England,  or  else  that  they  had 
met  over  there.  I  remember  now,  she  didn't  go  to 
Hamburg.  The  Daniellis  joined  the  steamer  at 
Southampton.  They  say  that  Bruno  was  there,  and 
did  his  best  to  get  them  to  wait  over  for  the  next 
one,  but  they  made  all  their  arrangements  very  hur- 
riedly, as  you  may  imagine — Ada  Spencer  was  the 
first  person  who  mentioned  it  to  me " 

"  Mentioned  what?  "  said  Quentin  shortly. 

"  Why,  mentioned  the  suspicion  she  had  of  Bruno 
and  Virginia.  Bruno  hardly  seemed  to  speak  to  her 
here,  Virginia,  I  mean " 

"It  seems  ridiculous,"  began  Quentin. 

"Ah,  my  friend,  one  cannot  control  one's  heart," 
said  Madame  with  a  pointed  look. 

"And  why  should  he?"  asked  Quentin  sharply. 
"  With — with  such  a  wife — a  wife  whom  any  man " 

Madame  flushed  angrily.  She  looked  at  him 
keenly. 

"He,  too!"  she  said  to  herself.  Perhaps  of  all 
Madame 's  ephemeral  fancies  the  one  for  Quentin  had 
been  the  most  lasting. 

"You  must  think  us  a  queer  household,  my 
friend,"  said  Madame,  raising  her  tone.  "But  I 
must  explain  a  little.  Bruno  was  the  son  of  my 
sister." 

"You  had  another  sister,  then?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  hastily.  "My  sisters  were 
both  very  much  older  than  I." 

Quentin' s  quick  mind  began  to  reason.  He  saw 
that,  if  Valery  had  spoken  the  truth,  this  would 
make  Madame  seem  as  young  as  she  chose  to  call 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  145 

herself,  but  he  crushed  down  these  thoughts  as  dis- 
loj&l  and  listened  as  she  continued. 

"I  have  thought  ever  since  you  came  that  I  must 
explain  to  you  why  I  feel  so  tenderly  toward  Bruno. 
I " 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  explain  any- 
thing to  me,  dear  Madame,"  said  Quentin  much 
touched,  for  he  saw  signs  of  unaffected  agitation 
on  the  pretty  features  of  his  hostess. 

"Yes,  but  I  must.  I  wish  you  to  know.  It  all 
happened  when  I  was  so  young.  Almost  a  little 
girl.  I  was  devoted  to  the  children.  We  all  lived 
in  a  great  old-fashioned  house.  My  father.  Colonel 
Gordon,  wished  us  to  be  at  home  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Bruno's  father  was  a  Spaniard.  He  was  in 
the  diplomatic  service.  He  was  away  at  the  time, 
and  my  sister  and  her  little  boy  were  staying  at  The 
Beeches."  Madame  ceased  for  a  moment.  She  took 
a  filmy  handkerchief  from  the  bag  at  her  side,  and 
dabbed  her  face  underneath  the  white  veil. 

"Don't,"  said  Quentin.  "I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you!  There  is  no  necessity  for  your  telling  me 
anything  painful." 

Madame  gave  a  long  sigh.  There  was  already  al- 
leviation in  Quentin's  tone.  He  had  not  spoken  so 
kindly  since  the  evening  of  his  arrivaL  All  emo- 
tions as  well  as  all  occurrences  were  subject  to  Ma- 
dame's  desire  for  appreciation  on  the  part  of  her 
friends,  and  she  continued.  "  One  day  I  was  in  the 
nursery  with  the  children.  I  was  but  little  older 
than  Bruno."  Quentin  looked  at  Madame  and  could 
readily  believe  her  statement.  "I  was  not  very 
strong  then.  He  was  a  beautiful  lad!"  Madame's 
face  was  working  convulsively.  A  tear  rolled  out  of 
10 


146  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

her  eye  and  down  upon  the  lace  guimpe  of  her  chio 
morning  gown.  "  I  loved  to  take  the  child  up  in  my 
arms.  I  had  been  forbidden  to  do  so.  They  said 
that  I  should  drop  him,  let  him  fall,  that  I  should 
injure  my  spine  and  injure  him.  I  put  my  arms 
round  him,  and  he  laid  his  head  against  my  breast. 
I  started  out  of  the  nursery  door.  I  would  go  into 
my  sister's  room  and  show  her  how  well  I  could 
carry  the  child.  Just  as  I  got  half  way  along  that 
dark  hall,  the  nurse,  who  hated  me,  and  whom  I 
detested,  called  sharply , '  Miss  Annie !  what  mischief 
are  you  up  to  now?'  I  started.  I  was  frightened. 
I  relaxed  my  hold  of  the  little  fellow.  Oh !  I  shall 
never  forget  that  moment.  We  were  just  at  the  head 
of  a  flight  of  stairs  leading  down  to  the  kitchen  re- 
gions. He  fell  from  my  arms,  and  down,  down,  to 
the  very  foot  of  that  long  flight.  The  woman's  words 
forced  exactly  what  she  would  have  prevented.  You 
can  imagine  how  my  father  felt,  how  my  sister  felt. 
All  medical  skill  was  tried,  but  in  vain.  Beyond 
saving  his  life  and  reason  they  did  nothing.  He 
grew  to  manhood,  just  what  you  see  him  now,  but 
thank  God!  he   has  never  known    that    it    was    I 

who " 

Madame  ceased,  unable  to  proceed.  She  buried 
her  face  in  the  folds  of  her  handkerchief,  regardless 
of  injury  to  her  complexion  or  newest  veiling  from 
Virot.  For  once,  she  was  natural,  and  Quentin  liked 
her  better  than  he  had  ever  liked  her  before.  Still 
there  was  one  thing  that  he  must  say — 

"  Yes,  and  yet  you  married  your " 

"I  married  my  niece  to  him,  yes."  (Ah,  Madame, 
what  a  mixture  of  hypocrisy  and  honesty  you  were !) 
"And  why  not?    Bruno  was  more  to  me  than  any- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  147 

thing  in  the  world.  My  whole  life  had  been  given 
up  to  him.  I  had  rained  his.  How  better  could  I 
have  atoned?  I  thought  to  give  the  lad  a  fortune — 
but  alas! — well — well —  His  mother  treated  me  to 
the  day  of  her  death  as  if  I  had  been  an  intentional 
murderess !  Oh  !  What  I  have  suffered  on  account 
of  that  child !  And  how  I  love  him !  Alixe  has  sup- 
planted me  with  him  as  she  has  with — "  she  stopped, 
her  voice  choked  with  sobs.  "I  thought  she  was 
everything  to  him,  but  these  strange  fits  of  his  are 
recurring.  I  find  they  always  overcome  him  when 
he  is  greatly  agitated.  I  have  not  credited  that  gos- 
sip about  Virginia  Danielli  before,  but  his  words  to 
Alixe  asking  her  to  forgive  him !  I  am  mystified,  I 
must  confess.  I  cannot  understand  it  at  all.  How- 
ever, he  might  love  any  one  so  far  as  Alixe  is  con- 
cerned. She  has  never  been  anything  more  to  him 
than —  Yes,  yes,  Valery.  They  are  calling  me." 
Madame  rose  hastily.  "I  will  see  you  after  break- 
fast, or  perhaps  you  had  better  come  with  me,  they 
may  need  some  help.  What  is  it?  "  she  called.  She 
ran  along  the  terrace,  and  disappeared  within  the 
chalet  arch.  Quentin  followed  more  slowly.  At  the 
head  of  the  stairs  she  stopped  and  beckoned  to  her 
guest.  "Come,"  she  said,  "come!  I  need  some  one 
who  is  strong.  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  if  he  suffers 
again."  Quentin  ran  up  the  stairs  and  followed  her 
into  the  room.  He  had  hardly  set  foot  over  the 
door-sill  when  he  heard  the  words,  "We  need  no 
strangers  here."  They  were  Father  Halle's  chilling 
tones.  "  I  begged  him — "  said  Madame,  but  Quentin 
had  turned  on  his  heel  and  was  gone.  His  swift 
glance  round  the  room  showed  him  St.  Aubin  lying 
on  the  lounge,  Alixe  sitting  by  his  side,  her  hand 


148  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

clasped  closely  within  his  own.  It  had  also  discov- 
ered to  him  more  than  perhaps  was  intended  for  him 
to  see.  He  stepped  across  the  landing  at  the  priest's 
inhospitable  words,  entered  his  own  room  and  closed 
the  door.  He  sat  down  and  thought  long  and  per- 
sistently. The  more  he  pondered,  the  more  confused 
he  became.  He  had  heard  so  much  of  St.  Aubin's 
chemicals  and  experiments.  Where  were  the  retorts, 
the  colored  liquids,  the  glass  jars,  used  in  chemistry? 
The  powders,  the  tubes,  and  other  insignia  of  the 
science?  Instead  of  any  of  these,  his  eyes  had  fallen 
upon  an  open  box.  Here  was  a  mass  of  machinery 
which  the  bent  of  his  mind  toward  mechanism  had 
taught  him  to  appreciate  and  understand  at  a  glance. 
If  the  Count  was  making  inventions  it  was  not,  so  far 
as  Quentin  had  discovered,  with  the  aid  of  chemicals. 
There  was  a  jar  standing  on  the  table,  and  upon  it 
the  label,  "Brown  Powder."  As  to  the  box,  it  was 
a  mass  of  machinery  upon  which  Halle  had  suddenly 
closed  the  lid,  at  the  same  time  saying  quickly,  "  We 
need  no  strangers  here." 


XV. 

That  Valery  was  apt  to  speak  his  mind  freely, 
Quentin  discovered  a  little  later,  wlien  be  said : 

"I'm  a  good  Catholic,  and  there  is  no  one  whom  I 
respect  more  than  his  Grace,  and  yet  I  must  say  that 
I  can't  see  what  he  has  got  to  say  about  whom  Alixe 
shall  or  shall  not  have  in  her  house." 

"Was  there  really  any  reason  for  it?"  asked 
Quentin. 

"He  said  that  he  had  been  unfrocked,"  answered 
Valery,  "but  I  imagine  between  you  and  me  that 
the  Archbishop  was  a  little  too  severe.  Something 
about  Peter's  pence,  I  believe.  There;  had  been  some 
defalcation.  Halle  made  it  good  later,  but  that 
wouldn't  do.  As  long  as  he  would  not  admit  mak- 
ing away  with  it,  he  should  not  have  returned  it." 

"  I  wonder  why  Father  Halle  should  have  hidden 
from  the  Archbishoi^, "  said  Quentin,  "  if  the  family 
were  willing  to  have  him  here." 

"Hum— ha!  Did  he  hide?  Looks  bad,  don't  it? 
Did  he?     Are  you  sure  of  it?  " 

"Quite  sure,"  said  Quentin,  "but  it  is  not  my 
business  to  talk  about  it." 

"I  don't  think  Alixe  believes  the  stories,"  said 
Valery,  after  a  pause.  "  But  Halle  was  brought  up 
in  the  household.  Mamasha  adopted  him,  the  child 
of  an  old  friend,  I  believe.     In  fact,  Bruno  cried  for 


150  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

him,  and  Bruno  had  to  have  everything  he  wanted, 
from  the  top  brick  of  the  chimney  to  Alixe,  as  you 
see.  Alixe  thinks  the  punishment  too  severe  for  the 
crime,  even  if  there  was  any  crime,  and  he,  Halle, 
protests  to  her  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it " 

"  And  yet"  was  willing  to  make  that  money  good?  " 

"Yes,  that's  where  they  caught  him.  Looks  bad, 
but  I  really  can't  believe  Bob  guilty.  Alixe  and 
Bruno  and  Bob  played  together  as  children.  It's 
rather  a  curious  mixture.  Mamasha  is  a  good  Cath- 
olic, and  would  like  to  obey  the  Archbishop,  but  I 
believe  that  next  to  her  own  soul,  she  loves  Bruno, 
and  if  she  were  to  put  Halle  out  of  the  house,  Bruno 
would  never  forgive  her.  There  are  wheels  within 
wheels,  as  you  will  find,  Mr.  Quentin,  if  you  stay 
long  enough  at  I'Abbaye  de  Bref." 

"He  seems  still  to  wear  the  priest's  robe,"  said 
Quentin. 

"  Propriety  forbids  that  he  should  discard  it, "  an- 
swered Valery,  with  a  laugh.  "I  don't  suppose  he's 
got  anything  under  it.     Poor  devil !  " 

There  had  been  so  much  and  so  varied  excitement 
during  the  short  time  of  Quentin' s  stay,  that  he  re- 
joiced at  the  now  prevailing  quiet  which  the  exodus 
of  the  many  guests  had  brought  in  its  train.  There 
were  remaining  now  only  Madame  Petrofsky,  Alixe, 
Gartha,  Mademoiselle,  and  the  Baroness,  while  in 
the  list  of  the  stern  sex  be  could  discover  no  other 
names  than  those  of  Lord  Eld'on,  Valery,  the  Count, 
Father  Halle,  and  Quentin  himself.  A  household  of 
ten  persons  is  not  usually  considered  a  very  small 
one,  but  the  great  house  party  which  Madame  had 
been  entertaining  for  some  weeks  past,  and  which, 
while  it  was  ever  changing  in  its  personal  units,  was 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  151 

usually  full  as  to  numbers,  made  the  great  chateau 
seem,  by  contrast,  almost  empty. 

The  breakfasting  and  dining  al  fresco  were  re- 
sumed at  Lord  Eldon's  desire,  but  that  seemed  to  be 
the  only  change  worth  noting. 

Quentin  would  not  listen  to  Madame's  persistent 
request  that  he  should  remove  his  belongings  to  the 
chateau.  He  felt  a  pride  in  sticking  to  his  post,  in 
not  being  frightened  away  by  a  few  draughts  of  wind 
which  he  could  explain,  and  the  rappings  and  open- 
ings of  doors  for  which  he  could  not  so  readily  ac- 
count, and  he  begged  his  hostess  to  allow  him  to 
remain  where  he  at  first  had  been  installed,  until  he 
finally  took  his  departure. 

The  time  passed  quietly.  Billiards  with  Valery  in 
the  morning,  drives  or  walks  with  Madame  when  she 
was  not  dri\dng  or  walking  with  Lord  Eldon,  riding 
with  Valery  and  Gartlia  all  about  the  roads  of  the 
valley  or  the  paths  among  the  hills.  Alixe  had  not 
appeared  since  he  had  seen  her  sitting  by  St.  Aubin's 
side  in  the  chalet  room,  and  St.  Aubin  himself  had 
not  been  seen  again,  the  priest  being  in  constant  at- 
tendance upon  him. 

Toward  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  Lord  Eldon 
came  to  Quentin  as  he  was  smoking  his  cigar  in  the 
ruins. 

"Mr.  Quentin,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  to  do  me  a 
favor."  He  spoke  with  brisk  confidence.  The  peer 
was  not  accustomed  to  being  refused  a  request. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Quentin  good-naturedly.  He 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  this  rosy  little  gentleman  with 
a  face  like  a  winter  apple,  and  he  thought  that  he 
saw  in  him  a  valuable  factor  in  sohdng  a  problem 
whose  complications  somewhat  annoyed  him. 


152  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"I  am  very  anxious,"  said  Lord  Eldon,  "to  sleep 
for  just  one  nigM  in  your  rooms.  I  have  never  in 
my  life  seen  or  heard  a  ghostly  visitant.  I  have 
endeavored  to  do  so  time  out  of  mind.  I  always  take 
the  side  against  the  possibility  of  such  an  occurrence, 
although  we  have  a  well-authenticated  ghost  at  Eldon 
Towers,  but  they  never  come  within  eyesight  so  far 
as  I  am  concerned.  Now,  I  am  going  to  ask  you, 
notwithstanding  what  St.  Aubin  said  yesterday,  to 
let  me  spend  the  night  in  your  rooms." 

"I  have  not  the  most  remote  objection,"  said 
Quentin,  "  only  you  must  not  let  the  Count  find  you 
out.     You  are  a  much  older  friend  here  than  I  am, 

but " 

"We  cannot  exchange  rooms  very  well,"  said  Lord 
Eldon,  "unless  you  openly  agree  to  it,  and  that  you 
seem  determined  not  to  do." 

"No,"  said  Quentin,  "I  am  not  to  be  frightened 

away,  but  I  am  willing,  if  you  prefer " 

"  Now,  I  have  my  own  theory  about  these  manifes- 
tations," interrupted  Lord  Eldon,  "and  I  want  to 
prove  it  without  delay.  I  am  of  the  opinion  that 
we  two  shall  see  whatever  one  alone  would  see,  also 
that  I  shall  hear  whatever  you  hear  when  I  am  not 
with  you." 

"Very  well,"  said  Quentin.  "But  how  do  you 
purpose  managing  it?  " 

"Why,  this  way."  Lord  Eldon  sat  down  on  a 
great  stone.  "  Give  me  a  light,  will  you?  "  As  Lord 
Eldon  puffed  he  unfolded  his  plans.  "After  every 
one  is  asleep,  I  shall  leave  the  chateau,  go  down  the 
steps  into  the  flower  garden,  between  the  terrace  and 

the  Abbey " 

"Why?"  asked  Quentin. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  153 

Lord  Eldon  puffed  slowly.  .Then  he  took  his  cigar 
from  between  his  lips  and  laughed. 

"I  see  that  you  are  no  conspirator,"  he  said.  "I 
take  that  way  simply  because  the  soft  earth  paths 
give  forth  no  sound.  I  could  not  possibly  get  over 
there  from  the  chateau  without  my  footsteps  being 
heard  on  the  gravel.  I  shall  walk  along  to  where 
the  nuns'  steps  are  built  into  the  outer  wall." 

"I  don't  think  I  know  the  place,"  said  Quentin. 

"  There  is  plenty  to  see  in  this  old  enclosure,"  com- 
mented Lord  Eldon.  "  Well,  when  I  get  there  I  shall 
turn  to  come  back,  and  will  mount  those  far  steps 
which  are  at  the  very  end  of  the  terrace." 

"  I  must  go  there  some  time,"  said  Quentin,  remem- 
bering that  Alixe  and  Gartha  had  appeared  from  that 
direction  on  the  first  evening  of  his  arrival. 

"Yes,  but  not  to-night.  They  will  suspect  some- 
thing. You  can't  imagine  how  suspicious  those  two 
men  are,"  and  Lord  Eldon  jerked  his  head  in  the 
direction  of  the  chalet.  "  When  I  get  to  the  top  of 
the  steps,  I  shall  remove  my  bedroom  slippers,  which 
I  shall  wear  for  this  occasion  only,  and  proceed  the 
rest  of  the  way  in  stockinged  feet." 

"  You  are  more  anxious  than  most  persons  to  see 
something  supernatural,"  said  Quentin,  looking  round 
at  Lord  Eldon  and  smiling  at  his  anxiety  to  make 
himself  uncomfortable. 

"There,  you  know,"  proceeded  Lord  Eldon,  "I 
strike  the  terrace,  but  it  is  not  gravelled  very  well 
just  at  the  end,  so  I  shall  make  no  noise,  and  in  a 
few  moments  I  shall  come  to  the  little  board  walk 
under  the  chalet  windows." 

"Just  under  the  Count's  rooms,"  said  Quentin. 

"Yes,  but  the   balcony  is  overhead.     From  that 


154  THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

moment  on,  I  shall  be  concealed.  Then  up  the  chalet 
stairs  in  a  jiffy,  and  so  into  the  haunted  chamber. 
Now,  isn't  that  a  fine  plan?  Your  rooms  are  on  the 
right  of  the  stairs,  I  believe.  I  wonder  why  they 
never  put  me  there?  " 

"  Perhaps,  as  happened  this  time,  the  rooms  were 
always  full,"  commented  Quentin. 

"  The  lantern  is  lighted,  I  suppose?  "  questioned 
Lord  Eldon. 

"Yes,  usually,"  said  Quentin,  "though  it  did  go 
out  the  other  night,  the  night  of  my  adventure." 

"  Ghost  blew  it  out,  I  suppose,"  said  the  peer,  smil- 
ing broadly.  "Now  you  leave  your  door  unlocked, 
do  you  hear?  I  shall  go  to  bed  early  and  get  some 
rest,  and  when  I  am  least  expected  I  shall  be  on  hand. 
When  your  door  opens  mysteriously,  at  the  wee  short 
hours  ayont  the  twal,  don't  be  frightened  out  of  your 
wits;  it  will  be  only  me."  Lord  Eldon's  grammar, 
like  that  of  many  an  English  gentleman,  left  some- 
thing to  be  desired,  but  lapses  in  grammar  do  not 
necessarily  argue  for  lapses  in  courage.  Quentin 
agreed  to  this  plan  quite  readily. 


XVI. 

To  his  surprise,  when  he  went  to  dinner  at  the  ring- 
ing of  the  Abbey  bell,  he  saw  that  Alixe  had  taken 
her  place  at  the  end  of  the  contracted  table.  She 
spoke  only  to  Garth  a  and  ate  little.  When  they  had 
assembled  in  the  salon  after  dinner,  he  saw  her  tall 
figure  seated  within  the  embrasure  of  a  distant  win- 
dow. 

As  Quentin  entered  the  room  there  was  a  crash  of 
music.  Mademoiselle  and  the  Baroness,  both  accom- 
plished musicians,  were  filling  the  room  with  the 
light-heartedness  of  the  soul  of  Brahms  as  exemplified 
in  some  of  his  gayest  Avaltzes.  The  Baroness  was  at 
the  grand  i)iano.  Mademoiselle  accompanying  her  at 
the  little  upright.  Quentin  loved  music  and  listened 
delightedly.  He  seated  himself  in  a  deep  armchair. 
There  were  lights  at  the  piano  only,  the  rest  of  the 
room  being  in  semi-darkness.  He  glanced  often  to- 
ward the  tall  figure  silhouetted  against  the  evening 
sky.  He  did  not  ajiproach  her  then.  She  seemed  to 
withdraw  from  every  one,  and  he  was  not  so  bold  as 
to  break  in  upon  her  solitude. 

When  Mademoiselle  and  the  Baroness  had  played 
until  Madame  had  become  a  little  impatent,  she  re- 
placed them  as  an  entertainer  of  the  small  company. 
She  gave,  to  Father  Halle's  accompaniment,  some  ex- 
ceedingly florid  vocalization  in  bravura  style.     St. 


156  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Aubin  in  his  turn  sang  some  Spanish  songs  in  a  sin- 
gularly sweet  tenor  voice,  whicli  caused  Quentin  to 
stare  at  liim  in  amazement,  and  Yalery  roared  out  a 
succession  of  hunting  songs  and  some  African  ballads 
until  he  was  red  in  the  face.  He  sang  "  The  Poacher, " 
"Drink,  Puppy,  Drink,"  and  "Im  Tiefen  Keller," 
with  a  ring  and  verve  that  were  inspiriting.  The  one 
discordant  note  was  an  English  song  by  the  Baroness, 
which  she  called  "The  Loosed  Cort."  The  title  in 
this  instance  was  prophetic,  as  the  singer  ended  her 
song  in  a  key  a  half-tone  lower  than  that  in  which 
she  had  begun. 

"Eeally,  we  make  excellent  music,  do  we  not?  "  ex- 
claimed Madame.  "We  must  give  a  concert.  We 
can  have  a  charity  performance  for  the  hospital  over 
in  the  village  of  Moncousis.  Mr.  Quentin,  you  sing, 
I  know.  Come  and  try  something,  anything.  Eobert 
Halle  can  play  all  music  at  sight. " 

But  Quentin  could  not  sing  with  that  lonely  figure 
in  view.  He  arose,  saying,  "I  am  not  in  voice  this 
evening,  Madame."  He  walked  slowly  over  toward 
the  window.  He  sang  well,  and  the  idea  of  singing 
to  the  priest's  accompaniment  was  not  encouraging  to 
him.  Halle  played  the  piano,  as  most  players  of  the 
organ  do,  with  a  heaviness  of  touch,  which  was  per- 
haps made  up  for,  in  a  measure,  by  his  certainty  and 
method. 

As  Quentin  approached  the  window,  the  tall  figure 
sitting  there  moved  slightly,  and  withdrew  her  trail- 
ing robe.  He  placed  himself  by  her  side,  and  looked 
abroad  upon  the  wonderful  night. 

Alixe  was  dressed  in  some  soft  black  material  whose 
folds  clung  about  her  as  she  moved.  She  had  dis- 
carded her  jewels,  all  but  the  silver  chain  with  its 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  157 

great  cross  of  amethysts.  Quentin  saw  that  it  hung 
downward,  hidden  within  the  folds  of  her  dress.  He 
sat  silent,  regarding  the  musicians.  He  saw  that 
Madame  cast  an  occasional  glance  toward  where  he 
sat  by  the  side  of  Alixe.  He  saw,  too,  that  Halle,  as 
he  thumped  out  his  accompaniment,  often  turned 
quickly  and  looked  over  his  shoulder  through  the 
open  door  at  his  back,  across  the  terrace,  to  the  gate 
beyond. 

"  Do  you  feel  cold,  Eobert?  "  asked  Madame  kindly. 

"  A  little  chilly  now  and  then.  It  is  nothing.  Is 
the  gate  open?  " 

"  The  gate  is  never  open,  Eobert ;  that  you  know 
well:  we  are  perfectly  enclosed  at  the  Abbey;  but 
why?  "  laughing,  "Do  you  feel  colder  with  the  door 
in  the  wall  open  when  all  the  windows  and  doors  are 
flung  wide,  as  you  see?  " 

"  Perhaps  if  the  great  doors  were  closed,  there  would 
not  be  as  much  draught,"  said  the  priest.  But  Ma- 
dame gave  no  order  this  mild  evening  to  shut  out  the 
air. 

She  glanced  once  or  or  twice  across  the  great  ex- 
panse of  the  interior  toward  the  two  figures  in  the 
window.  Then  she  walked  over  to  where  they  sat, 
silent.  Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  between  them 
since  Quentin  had  seated  himself. 

"Alixe,"  said  Madame,  "why  can't  you  play  my 
accompaniments?  You  know  how  Robert  Halle  ac- 
companies. He  thumps  '  In  Deinera  Blauen  Augen  ' 
as  if  he  were  playing  the  '  Stabat  Mater.'  My  voice 
is  completely  lost." 

"  Do  not  ask  me  to  play  to-night,"  said  Alixe. 

"  What  nonsense ! "  ejaculated  Madame.  "  There 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  play  to  please  me. 


158  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

We  cannot  mourn  forever.  Don't  you  know,  Alixe, 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  selfish  in  your 
grief?  " 

"  Yes, "  answered  Alixe  wearily.  "  I  know  there  is. 
I  am  very  selfish,  that  I  know  well,  but  oh,  Mama- 
sha !     Let  me  be  selfish  for  a  little  while  longer." 

Madame  gave  Quentin  a  glance  eloquent  of  disap- 
proval, and  clicked  back  to  the  piano. 

Quentin  had  heard  the  voice  of  Alixe  only  when 
she  had  answered  Madame.  She  had  not  spoken  to 
him.     Nor  did  she  speak  to  him  now. 

They  sat,  still,  silent,  as  two  ghosts.  It  was  to 
Quentin  simply  a  companionship,  which  was  sweeter 
than  the  talk  of  crowds. 

Suddenly  the  priest  struck  the  opening  chords  of 
the  mad  song  from  Lucia.  So  soon  as  the  notes  fell 
upon  her  ear,  Alixe  arose  hastily.  She  drew  her 
breath  sharply.  "  Oh,  do  not  sing  that ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Absurd!  Alixe,"  answered  Madame  sharply. 
"  Are  we  never  to  return  to  our  own  ways  just  be- 
cause  " 

Alixe  stood  partly  in  the  ray  of  the  moon,  partly  in 
shadow. 

"Robert  Halle,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  command 
which  Quentin  had  never  heard  from  her  before,  "  you 
shall  not  play  that  song.  Stop !  I  order  you.  Any- 
thing— anything  else.     I  will  not  have  it.     It  was  the 

last  song  that  Virginia "     Her  voice  broke  and 

she  sat  down  hurriedly. 

Halle  without  a  word  took  the  sheet  of  music  from 
the  rack,  and  replaced  it  by  another. 

"I  had  better  go  away,"  said  Alixe.  Quentin  did 
not  feel  that  she   was  speaking  to  him.     It  rather 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  159 

seemed  as  if  she  were  in  a  reverie.  "  I  am  only  a 
spoil-sport."  As  she  spoke,  she  pushed  the  low- 
panelled  seat  outward  and  the  long  window  swung 
over  the  terrace.  Quentin  arose  hastilj'.  He  fol- 
lowed, and  passed  her  by,  perceiving  where  her  path 
lay. 


xvn. 

He  ran  down  the  stairs  ahead  of  her,  which  was  a 
fortunate  move  on  his  part,  for  in  the  darkness  her 
foot  caught  in  an  encroaching  vine.  He  heard  her 
stumble,  and  before  she  should  prevent,  she  had 
fallen  against  him.  He  turned  quickly,  and  caught 
her  in  his  arms.  She  drew  back,  so  soon  as  she  felt 
the  necessary  resistance  which  his  steadfast  form 
gave  her,  and  stood  upright.  She  gave  a  swift,  sharp 
sigh,  and  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  moment  from 
wide-open  eyes,  as  if  some  secret  thing  had  suddenly 
been  revealed  to  her.  He  saw  but  a  glance.  It  was 
to  him  but  the  look  that  perhaps  a  friendless  child 
might  give  to  a  kindly  disposed  elder  person,  but  it 
comforted  Quentin  in  the  many  dark  days  that  fol- 
lowed. 

They  paced  down  toward  the  abbey.  Quentin 
talked  hurriedly  of  indifferent  things.  Alixe  was 
silent.  He  did  not  know  if  she  listened  or  no.  As 
they  entered  beneath  the  arch  which  opened  the  way 
to  the  ruin,  she  stopped  and  faced  him. 

"  Mr.  Quentin,"  she  said,  "  I  ought  to  ask  your  par- 
don for  making  Mamasha's  guests  so  uncomfortable. 
First  my  husband  sends  half  of  them  off  in  a  hurried 
flight  because  of  his  poor  harmless  chemicals,  aud 
then  I  annoy  the  rest  of  you  because  I  cannot  contain 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  161 

my  feelings.  It — it  is  hard  to  learn  to  control  one's 
feelings,  I  find — to  learn  to  forget — all  at  once." 

They  paced  along  the  interior  of  the  ruin,  some- 
times in  deep  shadow.  The  leaves  which  showed 
above  the  top  of  the  abbey  wall,  cast  shadows  across 
her  fair  face.  She  walked  the  length  of  the  enclosure 
and  seated  herself  upon  a  low,  bent  limb.  It  was 
where  Quentin  remembered  to  have  seen  the  gay  bevy 
on  that  first  day  at  afternoon  tea.  How  different 
now !  There  were  no  filmy  lawns  and  gay  colors,  no 
bright  and  saucy  voices  sending  badinage  from  one 
corner  to  the  other.  There  was  little  light.  The 
angles  of  the  building  were  dark  and  ghostly.  Quen- 
tin and  Alixe  were  the  only  beings  who  occupied  the 
lonely  enclosure.  She  was  robed  in  deepest  black ; 
the  waist  of  the  gown  came  high  and  covered  her 
throat.  Her  arms  were  encased  in  long  sleeves.  The 
only  things  about  her  that  sent  out  a  spark  of  light 
were  the  amethyst  cross  hanging  at  her  side  from  its 
string  of  beads,  and  the  glint  of  her  fair  hair  with  the 
silver  combs  shining  palely  in  the  moonlight. 

"I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  a  little,  if  I  may." 
She  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  almost  pathetically. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  would  say,  "  If  I  may  not  talk  to 
you,  where  can  I  turn?  "  Quentin  said  nothing.  She 
waiting  for  answer,  saw  permission  in  his  eyes. 

"The  subject  is  tabooed  within  the  chateau,"  she 
began.  "It  is  of  Virginia  Danielli  that  I  would 
speak.  Mamasha  says  that  it  makes  me  cry  and  look 
ugly,  and  indeed,  she  is  right,  so  it  does.  No,  do  not 
pay  me  a  compliment,  I  beg  of  you.  I  know  just  how 
it  makes  me  look  when  I  weep.  It  makes  me  really 
ill.  It  convulses  my  whole  being.  I  cry  very  sel- 
dom. I  have  wept  like  this  but  two  or  three  times  in 
11 


162  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

my  whole  life.  Once  when  the  dear  old  general  died. 
Ah !     Had  he  but  lived !    The  other  times  were " 

She  ceased. 

Quentin  did  not  ask  when  those  times  had  been. 
He  thought  that  he  could  imagine. 

"For  some  reason,"  continued  Alixe,  "it makes  my 
husband  extremely  agitated  when  I  mention  my  friend 
Virginia,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  She  was 
here  full  of  life  and  spirits  so  short  a  time  ago !  And 
I  find  that  Eobert  Halle  feels  almost  as  strongly  about 
it.  Mamasha  does  not  like  it.  She  loves  all  gay  and 
bright  things— Mamasha — "  a  sigh— "and  I  must 
keep  silent  before  her.  I  cannot  cloud  Gartha's  life 
with  my  sorrow.     "We  have  kept  the  fact  from  her. 

And  so "     She  looked  up  at  him  questioningly. 

"  May  I  tell  you  about  Virginia?  " 

Quentin  did  not  speak.  He  felt  that  words  were 
superfluous.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  took 
hers  within  his  strong  grasp.  Alixe  gave  his  a 
friendly  pressure  and  then  withdrew  her  own,  and 
laid  it  by  its  fellow  upon  her  sombre-hued  knee. 

"As  a  little  child  my  life  was  particularly  lonely," 
she  began.  "  I  need  not  go  into  the  reasons.  (No, 
thought  Quentin,  you  need  not,  but  I  am  beginning 
to  understand  those  reasons.)  But  that  it  was  so, 
is  an  unpleasant  fact.  Then,  as  an  older  girl,  I  was 
obliged  to  do  many  things  which  were  especially  re- 
pugnant to  me."  Quentin  remembered  Miss  Spen- 
cer's words  about  "those  girls  being  hawked  about 
to  half  the  capitals  of  Europe." 

"Finally,  in  some  of  our  wanderings,  I  met  this 
young  girl  Virginia.  She  was  but  a  little  older  than 
I.  I  was  first  attracted  by  her  merry  laugh,  truly 
the  merriest  laugh  that  ever  I  heard.     It  was  conta- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  163 

gious.  There  was  sometliing  within  me  that  needed 
and  responded  to  just  such  a  cheerful  even  nature. 
She  was  always  laughing,  my  Virginia.  The  first 
thing  in  the  morning  you  heard  her  sweet  note ;  it  was 
like  the  note  of  a  bird.  How  often  have  I  heard  it 
here  in  this  very  spot,  where  we  are  sitting — "  she 
broke  off  with  a  sad  little  laugh;  "but  I  don't  know 
why  I  should,  after  all,  trouble  you  with  all  this,  Mr. 
Quentin.  Like  the  needy  knife  grinder,  I  have  no 
story  to  tell.     She  was  jast  sweet  and  lovely,  and  my 

friend,  my  friend !     She  was  here "     Alixe  paused 

and  looked  around  at  the  darkened  corners  of  the 
walls  of  stone.  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  she  was  here 
only  three  weeks  ago?  Now  they  tell  me  that  she  is 
gone;  that  I  shall  never  see  her  more.  How  can  I 
believe  it?  How  can  I?  Virginia  dead!  Virginia 
dead!"  She  paused  |for  a  few  moments.  Quentin 
saw  that  her  lips  were  moving,  although  no  sound 
came  from  them ;  then  in  the  stillness  he  heard  the 
dropping  of  a  tear,  then  another.  Alixe  put  her  hand 
to  her  face  and  brushed  tlie  tears  away  as  a  little  child 
might  have  done. 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said.  "It  has  grown  to  be  a 
habit.  Do  not  mind.  How  can  I  tell  you  how  lovely 
she  was?  No  words  of  mine  could  make  you  under- 
stand it."  She  ceased.  There  was  dead  silence 
within  the  cloistered  ruin.  Quentin  did  not  seek  to 
break  the  spell. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Quentin,  that  there  are  some  per- 
sons with  whom  one  cannot  associate  the  thought  of 
death.  Virginia  was  one  of  those.  I  should  never 
have  imagined  her  dead.  I  could  not,  but  for  those 
awful  visions  that  pursue  me  at  night.  Connecting 
Virginia  with  death  seems  to  me  absurd,  incongruous. 


164  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Yet — yet— she  comes  to  me;  she  comes  to  me  at 
night,  always  begging  Bru— that  is,  my  husband— to 
help  her.  It  is  strange,  that  hallucination,  and  I 
know  it.  She  does  not  come  asking  aid  of  me.  She 
does  not  laugh  any  more,  she  does  not  smile,  she  only 
raises  appealing  hands,  and  begs  and  prays  to  be  saved 
from  that  cold,  dark  death."  Still  Quentin  did  not 
speak;  he  felt  that  this  was  simply  the  outpouring  of 
a  heartbroken  soul,  and  that  he,  as  himself,  played 
little  part  in  the  matter.  He  was  simply  a  receptacle, 
little  better  than  the  empty  air,  but  he  was  a  listener, 
and  that  is  all  that  certain  bereft  creatures  desire : 
some  one,  any  one  who  will  listen. 

Alixe  sat  looking  up  at  the  shifting  clouds  which 
crossed  and  hid  the  moon  at  times,  at  others  parted 
to  allow  it  to  shine  brightly  forth.  Sometimes  the 
light  flooded  her  face.  It  was  during  one  of  these 
moments  that  Quentin,  still  silent,  still  gazing  upon 
her,  saw  that  her  face  assumed  a  rapt  expression,  and 
that  she  began  to  speak,  to  whisper,  her  voice  hardly 
making  itself  heard  above  the  gentle  rustle  of  the 
leaves  of  the  old  tree  upon  whose  limb  she  was  sit- 
ting. The  scene  in  the  glade  came  back  to  him. 
"The  man  is  nothing  to  me,"  she  had  said.  And 
then  again,  "I  shall  probably  see  little  of  him." 
Could  that  have  been  but  a  few  days  ago?  Less  than 
a  week?  How  much  had  come  and  gone  since  then! 
Her  tears  were  falling  more  slowly  now.  She  with- 
drew her  eyes  and  rested  her  gaze  on  Quentin's. 

"  You  are  strong, "  she  said.  "  You  are  quiet.  You 
give  me  peace." 

Quentin  reached  over  and  took  her  slim  hands 
again  in  his.  He  pressed  them  in  his  strong  ones. 
Then  he  released  them.     It  was  not  much.     It  was  to 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  165 

last  for  a  lifetime,  for  he  knew  now  that  this  was  to 
be  the  thing  of  a  lifetime  with  him, 

"Thank  you,"  said  Alixe.  "I  should  think  that  I 
had  cried  away  all  my  tears.  Tears  for  Virginia. 
Had  you  only  seen  her,  Mr.  Quentin,  had  you  only 
known  her,  3'ou  would  understand.  You  have  noticed 
that  picture  above  the  grand  piano.  The  picture  of 
Santa  Barbara.  That  is  Virginia  to  the  life.  Only  she 
was  more  simple,  not  so  stilted  as  that  lovely  saint. 
But  she  wore  her  hair  just  as  that  is  worn.  She  was 
always  laughing  at  me  for  my  untidyness.  She  will 
never  laugh  at  me,  or  with  me,  again."  A  silence  for 
a  time  during  which  there  were  strange  rustlings 
among  the  branches,  and  the  sound  of  the  dropping 
to  earth  of  bits  of  crumbling  stone,  the  inevitable 
wearing  away  of  that  ancient  pile  which  must  con- 
tinue to  crumble  until  it  had  vanished  from  human 
ken. 

"  I  saw  her  again  last  night,  Mr.  Quentin.  I  have 
not  told  the  others,  no  one  but  Bru — my  husband. 
Thej^  laugh  at  my  fancies.  They  say  that  I  am  al- 
ways full  of  fancies.  She  was  with  me  the  whole 
night  through.  Sometimes  she  walked  with  me,  as 
she  used  to  do,  her  pretty  hands  in  mine — she  had 
such  pretty  hands  !  such  little  hands !  they  felt  so  lost 
in  my  great  paw." 

Quentin  glanced  at  the  long,  slim  hands  lying  in  her 
lap.  There  was  no  plump  prettiness  about  them,  but 
they  were  handsome,  refined  hands,  strong  in  char- 
acter. "  Sometimes  she  was  hanging  on  my  arm,  as 
in  the  old  days,  only  three  weeks  ago,  Mr.  Quentin, 
think  of  it !  Only  three  weeks  ago !  Looking  up  in 
my  face,  but  never  laughing.  She  never  laughs  any 
more  and  her  nature  was  always  so  joyous !     V^irginia 


166  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

was  the  embodiment  of  joy.  She  was  forever  laugh- 
ing. Then,  again,  I  saw  her  sinking  down,  sinking 
down  in  the  dark  waves,  in  the  wide,  black  sea.  She 
was  stretching  out  her  arms,  begging,  praying  to  be 
saved,  but  not  to  me.  That  was  so  strange.  Not  to 
me,  but  to — to  my  husband,  of  all  j^ersons !  She  did 
not  care  for  him  nor  he  for  her.  I  was  her  friend. 
He  often  asked  me  when  she  was  going  away,  as  if  he 
did  not  wish  her  at  the  Abbey.  I  remember  one  very 
strange  thing.  On  the  day  when  I  told  Count  St. 
Aubiu  that  Virginia  must  sail  in  the  next  steamer,  that 
they  had  cabled  her  to  do  so,  he  behaved  very  unac- 
countably. I  have  often  wondered  if  he  could  have 
had  some  premonition  as  to  her  coming  fate.  He 
asked  me  why  she  could  not  remain  over  until  the  fol- 
lowing week.  He  was  himself  starting  at  once  for 
Hamburg  to  take  that  very  ship  for  Southampton. 
It  seems  that  Madame  Danielli's  man  of  business  in 
London  had  cabled  her  the  news  of  her  son's  critical 
condition.  There  were  many  persons  going  to  Amer- 
ica at  that  time,  and  it  was  the  only  steamer  in  which 
he  could  get  passage  for  them.  I  remember  my  hus- 
band asking  why  they  could  not  sail  later,  or  earlier, 
even.  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  this,  but 
he  knew  how  I  loved  Virginia,  and  if  he  had  a  pre- 
monition, as  I  sometimes  think,  he  was  perhaps  try- 
ing to  save  me  from  this  grief.  Virginia  was  my  one 
friend.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  one  friend,  Mr. 
Quentin." 

Queutin  made  no  answer.  He  did  not  offer  her  his 
friendship.  He  had  said  all  that  he  meant  to  say. 
If  she  did  not  feel  that  he  was  her  friend  for  all  time, 
no  words  of  his  could  persuade  her  of  the  fact. 

They  sat  on  the  branch  of  the  old  tree  for  a  space. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  1G7 

Tlie  sobs  of  Alixe  grew  less  frequent ;  there  was  oc- 
casionally a  long-drawn  catching  of  the  breath,  but 
she  said  no  more.  Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken 
by  the  slight  stumble  of  a  foot  and  a  smothered  ex- 
clamation. Quentin  caught  sight  of  the  red  spark  of 
a  cigar  at  the  old  arched  entrance  to  the  ruin. 


xvni. 

"  AiiiXE,"  called  a  voice.     "  Alixe,  where  are  you?  " 

It  was  St.  Aubin's  voice. 

"Here,  Bruno,"  she  answered.  "I  am  with  Mr. 
Quentin." 

Quentin  half  arose. 

"Do  not  get  up,"  she  said.  "Bruno  will  find  us." 
She  made  no  effort  to  rise,  nor  did  she  move  fur- 
ther away  from  Quentin,  and  he  was  obliged  to  admit 
that  she  had  been  no  nearer  to  him  than  convention- 
ality allowed.  Strange  to  say,  he  experienced  a  slight 
feeling  of  irritation  when  she  remained  seated.  There 
was  no  secret  between  them,  except  perhaps  that  faint 
pressure  of  her  hands,  and  doubtless  she  would 
frankly  allude  to  it  before  this  creature  to  whom  she 
was  chained,  and  give  Quentin  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity for  mortification. 

"  Come  here,"  she  called.  "  It  is  lovely  here  in  the 
abbey."  She  moved  a  little  nearer  Quentin,  to  give 
St.  Aubin  a  place  to  seat  himself  should  he  be  so 
minded. 

St.  Aubin  came  near,  and  glanced  at  them  care- 
lessly.    He  was  evidently  much  preoccupied. 

"  Ghostly  old  ruin !  "  he  said,  as  hfb  stumbled  nearer 
his  wife.  "How  can  you  sit  here  a  minute  longer 
than  you  have  to?  Do  you  know,  Quentin,  that  you 
are  close  to  the  oubliette  wher*-  ihey  used  fe  '<  confine 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  169 

the  nuns?  That  was  wlien  they  did, something  worse 
than  usual;  and  the  wall  just  behind  you,  that  double 
shell,  where  some  of  the  stones  have  fallen  down,  is 
the  spot  where  two  especially  obstinate  ones  were  im- 
mured. I  always  expect  to  see  their  ghosts  when  I 
am  here  after  dark,  which,  however,  is  not  often,  I  can 
assure  you." 

"  You  will  have  little  to  dread  if  you  see  no  other 
ghosts  than  those,  Bruno,"  said  Alixe,  rising  and  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

St.  Aabin  started  perceptibly. 

"  What  is  it,  Bruno ?  Are  you  getting  nervous,  too? 
How  you  tremble." 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  St.  Aubin,  shaking  off  her 
hand.  "You  are  always  fancying  something,"  he 
added.     There  was  the  sound  of  voices  growing  near. 

"  There  they  come,"  said  St.  Aubin.  "  Mamasha  is 
always  uneasy  for  fear  she  lost  her  latest.  Here  we 
are,  Mamasha." 

As  St.  Aubin  spoke,  several  figures  entered  the  ruin, 
and,  crossing  the  open  space,  joined  those  standing 
there.  Madame  began  to  interrogate  Quentiu  as  to 
how  long  he  had  been  in  the  abbey  church,  if  he  did 
not  care  for  music,  if  he  did  not  feel  the  chill  of  the 
night  air,  when  St.  Aubin  had  joined  them,  and  if  he 
did  not  find  it  terribly  eerie  out  here  in  the  ghostly 
old  ruins. 

Quentin  warded  off  these  inquiries  with  forced 
laughter.  It  deceived  Madame,  however,  who  looked 
at  him  with  scrutiny.  It  seemed  to  her  that  senti- 
ment and  he  must  now  be  strangers.  While  Madame 
was  plying  him  with  her  questions,  St.  Aubin  had  laid 
his  hand  on  the  arm  of  Alixe,  and  had  drawn  her 
along  the  interior  of  the  abbey  to  the  further  doorway. 


170  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Here  a  grass-grown  terrace  above  tlie  tops  of  the  an- 
cient dungeons  made  a  footway  broad  enough  for  two 
persons  to  walk  abreast. 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  you,  Alixe,"  St.  Aubin  had 
said  in  passing  through  the  opening. 

"Yes,  Bruno,"  she  answered  gently.  She  followed 
his  lead,  and  together  they  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
outside  the  walls.  Here  they  were  screened  from  the 
sight  of  those  within  the  ruin.  They  were  silent  for 
a  while.  Alixe,  forgetful  even  that  Bruno  had  said 
that  he  had  something  to  say  to  her,  forgetful  of  all 
but  her  own  grief,  asked  no  question  as  she  walked 
beside  him. 

"I  wish  to  ask  you  a  favor,  Alixe,"  said  St.  Aubin. 

She  was  looking  abroad  upon  the  misty  fields  sil- 
vered by  the  moonlight,  and  did  not  answer. 

"  Alixe ! "  She  started  at  the  somewhat  impatient 
tone. 

"Yes,  Bruno,"  she  said. 

"I — I  wish  to  ask  you  something,"  again  repeated 
St.  Aubin.  He  stopped  in  his  walk,  hesitated,  and 
was  silent. 

Alixe  had  also  stopped.  "Well,  Bruno,"  she  said 
again,  "what  is  it?  " 

St.  Aubin  had  turned  toward  the  crumbling  wall 
and  stood  there  pulling,  almost  unconsciously,  at  a 
dead  vine,  which,  loosening  in  his  hand,  scattered  its 
withered  leaves  upon  the  ground. 

"  Do  not  do  that, "  said  Alixe.     "  Do  not ! " 

He,  unheeding,  with  a  final  great  rip  and  jerk,  tore 
the  vine  from  its  holding. 

"  That  is  the  vine  that  we  planted  together  last  year 
— Virginia  and  I.     I  hoped  that  it  might  have  lived." 

"It  is  dead,"  said  St.  Aubin,  stolidly. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  171 

"  Yes,  I  feared  tliat  it  was  dead  yesterday,  but  I 
meant  to  try  to  restore  it.  I  thought  that  with  care  I 
might.  There  was  perhaps  some  little  spark  of  life 
remaining - 


St.  Aubin  threw  the  trailing  spray  upon  the  ground. 

"  You  can  never  make  it  live  again, "  he  said.  "  You 
cannot  bring  the  dead  back  to  life.  That  is  an  old 
axiom." 

Alixe  shook  her  head  slowly  and  sighed. 

"I  fear  not,"  she  said.  "Not  any  more  than  my 
love  can  bring  her  back  to  life — Virginia !  " 

"Alixe,"  said  St.  Aubin  impatiently,  "how  long 
will  you  continue  to  harp  on  that  one  string?  I  for 
one  am  tired  of  it." 

"  Harp  on  one  string?  You  forget  yourself,  Bruno. 
Harp  on  one  string?  I  have  not  troubled  you  with 
my  grief !  The  news  is  not  so  old  to  me  that  the  ex- 
pression of  my  sorrow  can  be  called  hari^ing.  Do 
you  not  think  that  I  am  tired  of  it,  too?  Oh,  so  tired 
of  it !  And  I  must  be  tired  of  this  dreadful  fact  for 
all  the  years  to  come.  Perhaps  when  I  have  mourned 
Virginia  for  ten  or  twenty  years,  you  may  say " 

"  Well,  let  me  hear  no  more  of  it,  Alixe.  I  am 
weary  of  it.     You  annoy  everj^  one.     Grief  for  the 

dead "     St.  Aubin  stopped.     He  shuddered.     "  It 

is  chilly  out  here,"  he  said.  "I  hate  the  place. 
Grief  for  the  dead  cannot  bring  them  back. "  Alixe 
renewed  her  pacing.     St.  Aubin  kept  stej)  beside  her. 

"  There  is  just  one  thing  that  makes  it  the  more 
bitter,  Bruno.  I  did  not  go  with  Virginia  to  the 
steamer.  She  begged  me  to,  and  I  refused.  That  is 
the  cause  of  my  remorse.  Did  you  ever  feel  remorse, 
Bruno? " 

Alixe  did  not  say,   "You  would  not  allow  it,"  or 


172  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  You  objected  so  strenuously  that  I  gave  up  my  will 
to  yours,"  but  St.  Aubin  answered  sneeringly: 

"  And  you  are  now  trying  to  put  the  burden  of  that 
also  on  me?  " 

"Also,  Bruno!  What  do  you  mean?  What  else 
have  I  ever  tried  to  place  to  your  blame?  What  have 
I " 

"  No,  no ! "  said  St.  Aubin  hastily.  "  I  do  not  mean 
that,  Alixe,  but  it  seems  like  a  reproach  to  me. 
Mamasha  did  not  wish  you  to  go,  Gartha  was  ailing. 
They  were  here  alone,  and  I  thought  that  you  had 
worn  yourself  out  enough  for  the  Daniellis — she 
usurped  my  place,  Virginia  Danielli — she " 

"  She  took  no  place  but  her  own, "  said  Alixe.  "  She 
was  the  first  with  me  and  ever  will  be.  I  accepted 
your  reasons,"  she  added  sadly,  "but,  oh,  remorse  is 
a  dreadful  thing !  To  feel  that  I  refused  the  last  re- 
quest which  she  made  of  me ;  that  I  might  have  gone 
with  her ;  that  I  might  have  seen  the  last  wave  of  her 
hand — the  last  smile  on  her  lips — the  last " 

"  Cease !  "  St.  Aubin  shouted  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
and  then  perceiving  the  look  of  astonishment  on  her 
face:  "Pardon  me,"  he  said,  in  a  softer  tone,  "but  I 
can  bear  no  more.  The  Daniellis  were  my  friends, 
too,  Alixe.  It  M'^as  a  great  shock  to  me[  as  well.  I 
would  have  prevented  their  going  in  that  steamer  if 
I  could  have  done  so " 

"Poor  Bruno,"  said  she  apologetically.  "I  am,  as 
Mamc^jsha  says,  a  very  selfish  person."  Alixe  drew  a 
long  sigh.  "  You  could  not  have  known  that  any  ac- 
cident would  happen  to  that  steamer.  Poor  Bruno !  " 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  looked  down 
into  his  face.  "You  must  forgive  me.  You  will, 
Bruno?    You  will?" 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  173 

St.  Aubin,  finding  her  in  so  soft  a  mood  toward 
him,  broke  in  suddenly. 

"I  have  something  to  ask  of  you." 

"I  am  only  waiting,"  answered  Alixe  with  spirit- 
less voice.  "What  is  it?  My  grief  has  made  me 
thoughtless.  Have  I  refused  you  anything  that  you 
have  asked  for?  " 

St.  Aubin  thought  of  the  late  sale  of  two  valuable 
pieces  of  property,  and  answered  with  lowered  head 
and  faint  voice :  "  No.  But  this  is  something  that  I 
have  never  asked  before." 

"Anything!  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you;  you 
know  very  well  that  you  have  only  to " 

"I  should  like  you,"  said  St.  Aubin,  speaking  very 
fast,  and  in  an  almost  inaudible  tone  of  voice,  "  to  let 
me  change  my  rooms  in  the  chalet  and  come  over  to 
the  large  house." 

"  Bruno ! "  exclaimed  Alixe  in  a  low  voice,  "  have 
you  seen  anything,  really?  " 

"  Nonsense ! "   said  St.  Aubin.     "  I  wish  to  come 


over 

"  You  will  leave  the  chemicals  behind,  I  suppose, " 
said  Alixe,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"  I  wish  to  come  over " 

"And  why  not?  I  am  sure  you  are  as  free  of  the 
Abbey  as  I  am  myself.  The  place  is  yours  as  much 
as  mine.     I  have  always  told  you  that." 

"You  do  not  understand  me,  Alixe." 

"  Oh,  yes !  Yes,  I  do.  You  wish  to  change  your 
room  and  come  over  to  the  chateau.  Will  Kobert 
change  too?  I  suppose  you  will  still  keep  the  labo- 
ratory  " 

"  Halle  can  go  to  the  devil ! "  burst  out  St.  Aubin  in 
a  violent  tone,  and  then:     "Excuse  me,  Alixe,  but 


174  THE  AECHBISHOP  AKD  THE  LADY 

you  wilfully  misunderstand  me.  Halle  may  go  where 
lie  pleases,  but " 

"  Have  you  had  a  quarrel,  then?  " 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  Halle.  It  is  of  myself  I  am 
speaking.  I  wish  to  come  to  the  chateau  and  take 
the  place  that  is  mine  by  right." 

St.  Aubin  stretched  himself  to  the  greatest  height 
that  nature  allowed  and  looked  upward  into  the  eyes 
of  his  wife. 

"Take  the  place? "  Alixe  gazed  at  the  misshapen 
creature  before  her.  "I  hardly  understand  you. 
Are  not  the  servants  respectful?  Have  you  any  com- 
plaint to  make?  I  seldom  give  orders,  as  you  know, 
Bruno,  but  if  you  will  tell  Mamasha,  she,  as  you 
know,  manages  all,  she  will " 

"You  purposely  misunderstand  me,"  said  St.  Au- 
bin in  a  harsh  voice.  "  Look  me  in  the  face  if  you 
please.  You  may  be  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,  your 
foolish  mother  saw  fit  that  you  should  keep  that  title 
— but  you  are  my  wife,  I  am  your  husband.     I  have 

been  your  husband  in  name  for  eighteen  months " 

He  broke  off  and  gazed  searchingly  in  her  face.  "  I 
mean  to  come  where  you  are,  live  where  you  do — I 
mean " 

"My  rooms  are  fitted  for  me  only,"  said  Alixe 
coldly.  She  drew  away  from  him.  "  The  Abbess's 
chamber  was  never  intended  for  more  than  one  per- 
son. Besides,  I  was  promised  " — she  shrank  further 
away — "  I  was  assured  by  my  mother  that  it  was  my 
fortune  that  you  wanted,  to  continue  your  inventions ; 
that  I  had  so  much  that  I  ought  to  share  it  with  you ; 
that  you  could  not  accept  it  unless  I  became  your 
wife,  but  that  all  was  to  be  as  before.  It  was  a  very 
matter-of-fact   bargain.     Why,  we  were    playmates, 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  175 

Bruno  " — Alixe's  voice  was  shaking — "  playmates  in 
the  old  days.  You  are  to  me  like  a  brother."  She 
stopped,  choked ;  then  resumed  hurriedly :  "  Be- 
sides, Bruno,  look  at  me.  I  am  living  in  another 
world.  The  ghost  of  Virginia  walks  beside  me  the 
whole  night  through — the  whole  night  through !  She 
weeps  and  winds  her  hands  about  my  arm,  and  she 
calls  upon  you  to  save  her — to  save  her  from  those 
black  waves.  Why  should  she  call  upon  you,  Bruno, 
upon  you?  " 

At  these  apparently  innocent  words,  St.  Aubin 
stretched  his  long  arms  upward,  his  passion  turned 
all  at  once  to  rage. 

"  You  devil !  "  he  shouted. 

He  seized  the  girl  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  her 
in  his  frenzy  with  the  strength  of  a  being  who  par- 
takes somewhat  of  the  nature  of  a  dwarf. 

"  You  devil !  "  he  shouted  again.  "  You  beautiful, 
innocent  devil ! "  he  screamed  hoarsely.  "  What  do 
you  know?  What  do  you  suspect?"  At  these  des- 
perate words — 

"What?  What  is  it?"  called  Madame's  voice. 
"Are  you  hurt,  Bruno?     Are  you  ill?  " 

There  were  sounds  of  running  feet.  They  found 
Alixe  standing  as  if  turned  to  stone.  St.  Aubin  had 
fallen  at  her  feet.  He  was  clutching  at  the  grass  and 
trembling  as  if  in  an  ague,  whether  ill  from  some  sud- 
den sickness,  or  ill  from  anger,  or  from  both,  Madame 
could  not  determine.  She  had  had  long  experience 
of  Bruno's  temjjer. 

Alixe  did  not  stoop  to  raise  him,  nor  did  she  wait 
to  se^  what  the  outcome  might  be.  With  no  further 
look  at  his  grovelling  figure,  she  passed  in  through 
the  doorway,  across  the  open  space  of  the  ruin,  and 


176  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

out  again  beneath  the  curves  of  the  arch,  deaf  to  the 
nervous  cries  of  Madame  or  the  loud  orders  from 
Yalery.  She  vs^ent  with  swift  steps  up  the  stone 
stairs,  across  the  strip  of  terrace  and  through  the 
salon,  empty  now,  though  still  glittering  with  its 
many  brilliant  lights.  She  mounted  the  circular 
stair  which  led  to  the  Abbess's  chamber,  and  enter- 
ing there,  she  closed  and  bolted  the  iron  door  of  her 
refuge,  remnant  of  a  century  long  dead,  when  a 
woman's  chamber  needed  to  be  her  castle,  and  thus 
she  shut  herself  away  from  the  strife  of  her  world, 
as  the  lady  abbesses  had  often  done  in  the  olden 
time. 

Alixe  walked  the  floor  for  many  hours  that  night. 
Virginia  appeared  to  her  no  more.  That  sad  pleas- 
ure was  ended.  Suddenly  Alixe  felt  that  she  was 
warring  with  a  much  greater  trouble — a  living  trouble. 
She  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  new  difficulty. 
Something  had  come  to  her  which  she  had  never  ex- 
pected or  dreamed  of.  Why  she  should  have  hoped 
for  immunity  from  the  common  lot  of  women,  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  She  found  suddenly  that  she  was 
to  be  free  no  more  than  the  rest  of  womankind.  She 
paced  the  room  the  long  night  through.  When  the 
early  dawn  began  to  show  itself  upon  the  opposite 
hill,  she  threw  herself  into  the  ancient  prie-dieu  which 
had  served  the  mother  abbesses  for  ages,  and  there 
she  poured  out  her  soul.  She  was  not  of  the  church 
to  which  those  good  women  had  belonged,  but  she 
was  suffering  as  they  may  have  suffered  in  days  long 
dead.  Common  sisterhood  made  them  one.  She 
prayed,  her  face  in  her  hands,  the  tears  streaming 
through  her  fingers.  When  her  broken  words  ceased, 
she  still  knelt  there,  more  at  peace  than  she  had  been 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY  177 

since  the  news  of  Virginia  came  to  lier,  wondering 
what  she  should  do. 

Quentin  sat  smoking  within  the  seclusion  of  the 
ruins  for  a  long  time  after  the  others  had  left.  The 
wandering  breezes  of  night  made  their  presence  known 
by  an  occasional  rustle  overhead  among  the  leaves, 
which  rose  above  the  walls  of  the  Abbey  and  so  caught 
the  movements  of  the  night  air,  but  no  spirit  came  to 
disturb  his  reflections.  He  sat  there  in  a  dream,  a 
maze.  He  had  awakened.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  not 
lived  before,  and  yet  such  living  was  more  painful 
than  the  moribund  state  from  which  this  new  spirit 
of  life  had  called  him.  He  pondered  upon  one  sub- 
ject only,  and  was  lost  in  that.  His  thoughts  were 
futile  and  worse  than  useless,  but  they  would  not 
down.  So  there  were  skeletons  in  this  household,  of 
all  households  that  he  had  ever  known  the  most  peace- 
ful in  appearance.  Its  name  signified  a  quiet  retreat, 
which  called  up  memories  of  past  holiness  and  calm. 
All  had  seemed  as  still  as  the  surface  of  a  pool  en- 
closed between  high  hills,  a  spot  which  no  harsh 
wind  could  ever  search  out  to  destroy  its  jjeace ;  and 
now  he  found  that  that  smiling  surface  hid  a  boiling 
cauldron  which  might  bubble  and  foam  into  danger- 
ous billows  at  au}^  moment.  In  this  sunny  paradise, 
then,  serpents  lurked  in  shadowy  corners,  there  was  a 
worm  gnawing  at  the  heart  of  every  fair  flower.  Here 
ghosts  walked  not  by  night  only,  but  stalked  boldly 
forth  in  the  light  of  day,  not  the  revenants  of  little 
Gartlia,  but  haunting  shades,  which  made  this  lovely 
toman's  life  a  life  of  misery. 
12 


XIX. 

QuENTiN  was  aroused  by  the  clear  tone  of  the  Abbey- 
bell.  It  struck  the  half  hour.  Could  it  then  be  so 
near  midnight?  He  threw  his  cigar,  which  had  gone 
out  while  his  thoughts  burned  fiercely  enough  to  have 
relighted  it,  into  a  corner,  and  rising  he  passed  out 
of  the  archway,  walked  slowly  up  through  the  arbor, 
mounted  the  stone  steps,  and  went  along  the  terrace 
toward  the  chalet.  He  ascended  the  stairs,  entered 
his  room,  changed  his  evening  shoes  for  bedroom 
slippers,  and  his  coat  for  a  smoking  jacket,  and  then 
finding  that  sleep  and  he  were  at  daggers  drawn,  he 
pushed  open  the  long  French  window  and  went  out 
on  the  narrow  little  balcony.  Here  he  began  to  pace 
to  and  fro.  He  mechanically  lighted  a  cigar  as  he 
walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  in  front  of  his 
window,  utterly  lost  in  vain  and  perplexing  surmises. 
Unthinking,  he  extended  his  walk  the  length  of  the 
balcony,  oblivious  that  he  might  be  encroaching  upon 
forbidden  ground.  He  had  nearly  reached  the  end  of 
the  veranda,  when  suddenly  he  was  recalled  to  things 
mundane  by  finding  himself  opposite  an  open  win- 
dow from  which  a  light  blazed  forth.  An  involuntary 
glance  within,  a  flashlight  picture  as  it  were,  showed 
to  him  St.  Aubin  lying  upon  the  bed,  and  the  priest 
at  the  window  which  gave  upon  the  public  road. 
Halle's  back  was  toward  Quentin.     He  was  leaning 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  179 

out  of  tlie  window,  and  seemed  to  be  pulling  at  some 
rather  heavy  weight  with  a  hand-over-hand  motion. 
Quentin  heard  the  words  from  St.  Aubin,  "  Tell  him 
that  you  will  meet  him  in  the  glade  to-morrow,  and 
pay  him,  Bob;  I  have  no  money  by  me  at  present." 

Quentin  started  back  and  turned  himself  about. 
He  knew  that  he  had  stumbled  upon  something  which 
was  not  intended  either  for  his  ears  or  eyes.  That  a 
mystery  was  afoot,  he  felt  certain,  but  that  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  him,  of  that  he  also  was  sure,  and 
he  was  convinced  that  whatever  these  two  worthies 
were  planning,  with  regard  to  their  midnight  exj^lora- 
tious  into  the  realms  of  science,  that  he,  personal!}', 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  In  the  space  of 
a  moment  these  thoughts  had  flashed  through  his 
brain  and  he  had  at  once  faced  about,  but  Halle  had 
turned  for  a  moment  to  answer  St.  Aubin,  and  in  that 
moment  he  caught  sight  of  an  intruder.  He  released 
his  hold  on  the  rope.  There  was  a  cry  of  pain  from 
some  one  underneath  the  outer  wall,  not  heeding 
which  Halle  came  striding  across  the  space  between 
the  window  and  the  balcony.  His  face  had  taken 
on  a  paler  cast  than  ever  through  the  passion  which 
suddenly  consumed  him.  Quentin  did  not  know  the 
man ;  he  was  transformed.  St.  Aubin  sat  up  in  the 
bed,  and  stared  at  Quentin  with'angry  and  astonished 
eyes.  Quentin  did  not  retreat,  as  he  felt  that  this  was 
no  time  for  it.  The  priest's  words  rolled  forth  from 
foam-flecked  lips. 

"So  we  have  a  spy  among  us — a  spy  among  us! 
Are  you  aware.  Count " — turning  to  St.  Aubin — • 
"that  this  gentleman,  who  comes  as  a  guest  to  the 
Abbey,  has  been  set,  or  has  set  himself,  to  spy  upon 
us?" 


180  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Quentin's  astonislied  and  indignant  expression 
showed  St.  Aubin  at  once  that  the  priest  had  planged 
himself  into  a  foolish  mistake. 

"Go  easy,  Bob,"  he  said  in  excellent  English,  and 
then,  letting  his  gaze  rest  on  the  intruder :  "  Pardon 
my  saying  to  a  guest  of  the  chateau,  Mr.  Quentin, 
that  these  rooms  are  private,  and  that  when " 

"  A  spy  sent  by  His  Grace ! "  screamed  Halle,  shak- 
ing his  fist  at  Quentin.  "  You  conceal  your  religion 
underneath  a  Protestant  cloak,  sir,  but  I  have  had  my 
doubts  of  you,  I  have " 

"  Bob !  Bob !  don't  be  a  fool !  "  reiterated  St.  Aubin, 
who  was  becoming  more  convinced  each  moment  that 
Quentin  was  there  by  accident  and  not  by  premedita- 
tion. "You  must  excuse  his  words,  Mr.  Quentin; 
3^ou  know  that  inventors  guard  their  secrets  very  jeal- 
ously, and  Halle " 

"You  are  right.  Count  St.  Aubin,"  said  Quentin, 
whose  face  was  becoming  as  white  as  the  priest's. 
"  I  came  here  quite  by  mistake ;  I  was  thinking  of — 
of — other  things ;  I  assure  you  that  I  am  more  than 
sorry,  and  I  apologize,  Count,  to  you.  As  for  Mr. 
Halle,  his  methods  of  life  seem  to  have  made  him 
suspicious  of  the  most  careless  and  open  actions  in 
all  with  whom  he  comes  in  contact.  I  am  Madame 
Petrofsky 's  guest.  I  shall  be  leaving  soon ;  but  while 
I  am  here  I  demand  from  you,  as  the  master  of  this 
house,  respectful  treatment  at  least,  from  this  un- 
frocked priest." 

"  There,  Bob ! "  said  St.  Aubin  with  a  sardonic  grin, 
"see  what  you  bring  upon  yourself." 

Halle's  face  grew  livid.  He  seized  a  chair  by  the 
back,  as  if  to  hurl  it  in  the  air.  Quentin,  instead  of 
dodging  behind  the  shelter  of  the  wall,  with  a  "  Par- 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  181 

don,  Count,"  sprang  into  the  room  and  threw  himself 
upon  Halle  and  held  him  with  a  grip  of  iron. 

The  priest  struggled  to  free  himself.  He  might  as 
well  have  been  a  fish  within  a  net.  Quentin's  train- 
ing stood  him  in  good  stead,  and  he  held  this  man, 
as  tall  as  himself,  with  the  ease  that  is  produced 
in  muscles  which  are  strengthened  by  daily  exer- 
cise. 

St.  Aubin  slipped  from  the  bed  to  the  floor  and 
stood  facing  the  two. 

"  You  idiot ! "  he  said,  apostrophising  the  priest. 
"  Mr.  Quentin  is,  as  I  said,  in  the  right.  Why  should 
he  care  to  become  acquainted  with  our  little  inven- 
tions? You  see  a  discoverer  in  every  shadow.  It  is 
an  automobile,  Mr.  Quentin,  and  I  firmlj^  believe  that 
persistent  working  over  it  in  secret  has  driven  Halle 
mad.  Yes,  I  do,  Bob.  He  is  afraid  that  some  one 
will  steal  the  knowledge  that  we  have  gained  by  long 
and  faithful  study.  Apologize  to  Mr.  Quentin  at 
once,  you  mild-mannered  son  of  holy  church." 

Quentin  did  not  let  go  his  hold  on  the  wrists  of  the 
priest. 

Halle  stood  writhing  about  and  sulkily  glaring  de- 
fiance, first  at  Quentin  and  then  at  St.  Aubin.  He 
panted  like  an  animal  who  has  outrun  his  strength. 
"  He  has  dogged  my  steps  ever  since  he  has  been 
here,  ever  since  he  arrived,"  said  the  priest.  "He 
has  followed  me,  and  watched  me,  and  spied  upon  me 
until  I  have  been  convinced  that  ho  is  in  the  pa,j  of 
the  church  to  hound  me  to  the  gallows." 

"  The  gallows ! "  exclaimed  St.  Aubin  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "Good  God!  Bob,  what  are  you  talking 
about?  Mr.  Quentin,  the  man's  mind  is  going.  You 
must  jjardon  this  madman,  without  further  apology. 


182  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

I  really  believe  that  his  troubles  in  the  church  have 
crazed  him." 

"I  do  not  think  he  is  mad,  Count,"  said  Quentin. 
And  then  looking  Halle  in  the  eye,  with  as  insolent  a 
tone  as  he  could  command :  "  I  did  not  know  before 
that  stealing  was  a  hanging  matter  in  France — I 
thought  that  it  was  nothing  less  than  murder  that " — 

At  these  words  the  priest  writhed  desperately  and 
tried  to  escape  from  Quentin's  grasp.  He  snarled 
like  an  animal,  and  bent  his  head  trying  to  bite  with 
his  strong  white  teeth  the  wrists  of  the  hands  that 
held  him,  but  he  was  helpless  as  an  infant  in  the 
hands  of  this  athlete. 

"That  is  not  fair,  Mr.  Quentin,"  said  St.  Aubin. 
"  Halle  has  been  accused,  it  is  true,  but  unjustly,  as 
my  wife  and  I  both " 

"  Be  silent ! "  shouted  the  priest.  "  For  God's  sake, 
do  not  speak  her  name  here." 

Quentin  felt  more  respect  for  the  man  at  these 
words  than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  All  the  time 
Halle  was  twisting,  turning,  and  trying  to  look  over 
his  shoulder,  and  dragging  Quentin  by  these  move- 
ments a  little  nearer  the  table.  Quentin,  glancing  in 
that  direction,  saw  that  a  convenient  revolver  lay  ready 
to  hand.  St.  Aubin  walked  to  the  spot  and  took  the 
weapon  from  the  table  and  into  an  inner  room.  He 
returned  in  a  moment  and  locked  the  door  after  him. 

"  This  is  new  to  me, "  he  said.  "  A  madman  like  that 
may  do  anything.  Release  him,  Mr.  Quentin ;  I  will 
answer  for  his  good  behavior.  Now,  Bob — now, 
Bob " 

Quentin  loosened  his  hands  at  once,  but  did  not  re- 
treat from  the  near  presence  of  the  priest. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  183 

"  Mad ! "  exclaimed  Halle,  raising  one  arm  in  the 
air  in  denunciation.  "  And  if  I  am  mad,  you  know 
who  has  driven  me  mad."  He  shook  his  clenched 
hand  in  St.  Aubin's  face.  "  You  know  who  has  per- 
suaded, and  urged,  and  cajoled  me,  until  I  am  as  deep 
in  the  mud  as  you  are  in  the  mire.     You  know " 

St.  Aubin  had  stood  regarding  the  priest  with  wide- 
ojien  eyes  of  astonishment.  He  broke  in  then,  drown- 
ing Halle's  words  with  his  own. 

"  Stop ! "  he  shouted.  "  Stop !  for  God's  sake,  stop ! 
Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying  here,  before  this 
stranger?  "  Halle  closed  his  lips  and  bit  them  sav- 
agely. "I  knew  you  were  queer,"  continued  St.  Au- 
bin. "  The  knowledge  has  been  growing  upon  me  of 
late,  but  upon  my  soul,  Bob,  I  did  not  know  that  it 
had  come  to  this.  If  Mr.  Quentin  did  not  knoAv  us 
all  better,  you  might  almost  make  Jiim  think  that  we 
are  a  band  of  thugs,  plundering  and  murdering  right 
and  left.     You " 

"  And  what  else  are "  began  the  priest. 

St.  Aubin  interrupted  him  quickly,  shaking  his 
head  sadly. 

"  To  think  of  it !  "  he  said.  "  To  think  of  it !  My 
own  old  friend !  Mr.  Quentin,  go  away  now,  if  you 
please.  He  will  be  right,  I  think,  in  a  few  moments, 
and  then  no  one  will  be  as  sorry  as  he." 

"I  do  not  like  to  leave  you,"  hesitated  Quentin, 
looking  at  the  priest,  who  still  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  his  hand  stretched  forth  in  denunciation, 
though  the  words  seemed  frozen  upon  his  lips. 

"  Go,  go !  "  said  St.  Aubin.  "  I  can  manage  him. 
Go !     To  please  me,  go !  " 

Quentin,  at  St.  Aubin's  words,  had  stepped  outside 
the  window. 


184  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Oh!  you  can  manage  him.  You!"  burst  forth 
Halle.  "  As  you  have  managed  him  before,  as  you 
are  managing  him  now,  as  you  will  manage  him  until 
you  send  his  soul  seething  in  wickedness,  and  rotting 
in  crime,  to  the  hottest  depths  of " 

"  Really !  I  have  never  known  him  so  bad  as  this," 
said  St.  Aubin,  with  an  anxious  eje  fixed  upon  the 
priest.  "  I  have  never  told  any  one ;  I  have  kept  him 
from  a  maison  de  sante  thus  far,  but " 

"Had  I  not  better  remain?"  hesitated  Quentin. 
"Shall  I  call  for " 

Halle  broke  the  sentence  by  springing  toward  the 
window  with  a  panther-like  leap,  but  St.  Aubin,  fear- 
ing some  injury  to  Quentin,  was  upon  him.  He 
seized  the  priest  from  behind  and  wreathed  his  arms 
about  him  and  struggled  with  him,  panting  out  the 
words,  "If — you  will — only  go — I  can  manage  him." 
St.  Aubin's  tone  was  so  decided  that  Quentin  reluct- 
antly withdrew.  As  his  retreating  steps  grew  fainter, 
St.  Aubin  released  Halle,  and  with  a  quick  whirl  faced 
the  tall  man  about.  He  stood  staring  steadily  at  the 
priest.  His  gaze  seemed  to  intensify  with  each  suc- 
ceeding moment — to  penetrate — to  burn.  Halle  stood 
rigid  and  stiff.  He  glared  back  at  St.  Aubin,  at  first 
defiantly,  but  after  a  little  his  eye  began  to  quail,  his 
glance  to  flicker  and  droop.  A  change  came  over 
him.  His  figure  seemed  to  relax.  His  arm,  the  de- 
nunciatory arm,  dropped  by  his  side,  he  shivered,  and 
fell  into,  rather  than  seated  himself  in,  a  chair. 

St.  Aubin  neither  lowered  his  eyes  nor  changed  his 
attitude.     He  stood  as  if  carved  in  marble. 

"  Look  at  me !  "  he  said.     "  Look  at  me !  " 

He  drew  Halle's  wavering  eyes  to  his  own  and  held 
them  there.     Whenever  they   wandered,  as  if  they 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  185 

would  steal  away  from  the  burning  reproach  of  St. 
Aubin's  gaze,  they  were  recalled  by  a  something  that 
seemed  to  glow  deep  within  that  gaze,  and  which  held 
them  whether  they  would  or  no. 

St.  Aubin  finally  began  to  speak.  His  words  came 
slowly  forth  with  an  intonation  of  such  scathing, 
probing  sarcasm  as  caused  the  priest  to  quiver  as  if 
he  felt  the  cuts  of  a  lash  upon  the  bare  skin. 

"And  this  is  the  way  in  which  you  keep  your 
promises — your  more  than  promises,  your  oaths,  you 
chicken-hearted  dignitary  of  Mother  Church,  you 
trustworthy  ecclesiastic ! — oaths  which,  when  broken, 
place  both  our  lives  in  jeopard}'.  Is  this  the  faith 
that  I  can  place  in  you?  Is  that  the  extent  to  which 
I  can  rely  upon  you?  You  wretched  weakling! 
Eushing  into  the  jaws  of  discovery  and  death,  and 
dragging  me  with  you,  just  because  an  innocent  vis- 
itor at  the  chateau  happens  to  stroll  past  the  windows 
here.  The  hangman's  noose,  indeed !  I  can  tell  you, 
you  black-robed  devil,  that  before  I  submit  to  the 
hangman's  noose  at  your  behest,  you  shall  be  ad- 
judged a  lunatic  by  all  the  experts  in  France." 

As  St.  Aubin  proceeded,  Halle  half  arose  and  drew 
slowly  toward  him.  He  came  like  a  dog  fearful  of 
being  beaten,  his  tall  body  bent,  his  attitude  one  of 
cringing  supplication. 

"  Stand  off !  Do  not  approach  me !  Do  not  touch 
me !  A  pretty  friend  you !  I  thought  that  at  least, 
though  you  had  no  consideration  for  me,  you  might 
have  some  for  yourself.     I  tliought " 

But  Halle  was  on  the  floor,  kneeling  and  holding 
to  St.  Aubin's  feet. 

"  Cease,  Bruno,  cease !  I  was  mad,  indeed,  mad ! 
mad  I    I  see  it  now.     What  did  I  say  ?     What  did  I 


186  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

do?  Some  one  came,  did  he  not,  to  spy  upon  us? 
Upon  you  and  me !  Only  a  guest  of  the  house,  you 
say?  By  accident,  you  say?  If  you  knew  in  what 
dread,  what  terror,  I  live  day  by  day,  night  by  night ! 
I  hear  stealthy  footsteps  hunting  me  down.  I  hear 
voices  when  I  move  along  the  terrace  in  the  dark. 
That  night  when  I  lurked  in  the  wood,  while  the  Arch- 
bishop was  at  the  chateau,  I  heard  them  all  about 
me.  They  say:  'There  he  goes!  Seize  him!  Seize 
him !'  Even  when  I  play  ghost  at  your  bidding,  I  am 
afraid,  afraid  of  myself,  of  my  long  shadow,  which 
sometimes  creeps,  creeps,  before  me,  sometimes  comes 
behind.  When  I  go  up  those  dark  steep  stairs,  I 
hear  footsteps  other  than  my  own.  They  walk  beside 
me,  they  rise  tread  by  tread,  as  do  my  own,  and  while 
I  am  haunting  others,  I  myself  am  haunted.  Do  not 
make  me  do  it  again,  Bruno;  do  not  make  me  do  it 
again."  His  voice  had  sunk  into  a  whine.  It  was 
as  the  whimper  of  a  terrified  child. 

"  Get  up,  you  coward ! "  said  St.  Aubin  fiercely. 
"  You  will  do  it  again,  when  I  order  you.  This  very 
night,  if  I  say  so.  A  fine  assistant  I  chose  to  confide 
in !  To  aid  me  in  my  inventions,  my  inventions,  do 
you  hear?  My  inventions !  for  that  is  all  they  are. 
Get  up  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  this  nonsense,  or 
I  will  have  you  locked  up  in  a  madhouse."  There 
was  an  ugly  glitter  in  Halle's  eye.  "You  will  tell? 
Then  tell,  and  be  damned  to  you !  "  St.  Aubin,  short 
in  stature  as  he  was,  stood  over  the  tumbled  heap 
beneath  him.  "Tell,  I  say,  and  be  damned  to  you! 
Who,  do  you  think,  will  believe  your  stories,  the  sto- 
ries of  a  dishonored  and  excommunicated  priest, 
against  whom  the  Archbishop  will  be  only  too  glad 
to  apxjear?     Who  do  you  think  will  believe  the  tales  of 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  187 

a  wanderer  and  fugitive  from  lioly  church,  against  the 
word  of  the  Count  St.  Aubin,  who  is — who  was — 
through  his  wife,  one  of  the  richest  nobles  of  France?  " 
As  St.  Aubin  mentioned  his  wife's  name,  the  priest 
shivered  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 

"Aye,  cringe  and  shiver  and  cower!  You  are  too 
deep  within  the  toils  to  escape  now.  There  is  no  way 
out  of  it,  any  more  than  there  is  a  way  of  escajoe  from 
the  nethermost  hell  for  your  deep-dyed  soul — your 
deep-dyed  soul — and — and — mine ! " 

St.  Aubin  stood  looking  down  at  the  shaking  heap 
before  him.     There  was  a  convulsive  sob. 

"  Crying,  are  you?  "  He  gave  the  tortured  creature 
a  kick  with  the  toe  of  his  patent  leather  shoe.  "  Get 
up !  "  he  said.  "  Get  up !  you  sacerdotal  sneak !  Do 
you  hear  that  brute  howling  under  the  window?  It 
is  a  wonder  that  he  has  not  awakened  the  entire 
house.  Go  and  lower  the  rope  down  to  him  again, 
and  see  that  this  time  you  do  not  let  it  slip,  or  I  will 
see  to  it  that  you  i)lay  me  no  more  such  tricks." 

When  Quentin  entered  his  room  once  more,  he 
found  Lord  Eldon  sitting  there,  composedly  smoking 
his  pipe  and  reading  Figaro.  He  looked  up  as  Quen- 
tin came  in  through  the  open  window.  "I  have 
locked  the  door,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  busi- 
ness tone,  "  and  have  been  examining  the  premises,  at 
least  so  far  as  tliis  room  is  concerned.  At  what  time 
do  they  usually'  appear?  " 

"I  was  disturbe-.^  about  midnight,"  said  Quentin, 
"but  I  don't  feel  a?  ■'.f  anything  short  of  an  earthquake 
could  wake  me  to-night.  Where  will  you  sleep?  On 
the  lounge  or  in  the  bed?  " 

"I'll  just  throw  myself  down  on  the  lounge,"  an- 
swered the  peer.     "  You  had  better  go  to  bed  as  usual. 


188  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Wliat  was  all  that  howling  down  in  the  road  some 
moments  ago?  I  heard  voices,  too,  but  I  was  inter- 
ested in " 

"  Something  I  had  no  business  to  mix  myself  up 
in,"  said  Quentin  rather  slowly.  "It's  getting  late. 
Lord  Eldou.  If  we  intend  to  give  the  ghosts  the  ghost 
of  a  chance,  we  had  better  go  to  sleep  and  be  prepared 
to  receive  them."  Quentin  laughed  as  he  said  this, 
and  going  into  the  little  dressing-room,  he  soon  re- 
appeared, ready  for  the  night.  "I  thought  that  I 
was  tired,"  said  he,  "and  somehow  I  am  suddenly 
unaccountably  sleepy.  Are  you  comfortable  there? 
Why  not  take  my  dressing  gown?  " 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud,"  said  Lord  Eldon.  "  I  don't 
want  them  to  know  that  I  have  broken  the  rule  as  to 
apparitions." 

"Are  you  comfortable?  "  again  asked  Quentin,  this 
time  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"Eight  as  rain,"  replied  Lord  Eldon  as  he  settled 
himself  on  the  soft  mattressed  lounge.  "  Wake  me  if 
you  hear  anything.  Oh,  by  the  way,  don't  you  bolt 
the  door?  " 

As  he  spoke  the  little  man  rolled  off  the  couch  and 
was  at  the  door  leading  into  the  dressing-room.  He 
shot  the  bolt  with  a  loud  noise.  "There!  We're 
right  as  trivets."  He  then  threw  himself  upon  the 
lounge.     "Now  be  sure  you  call  me  if  jon — you — 

hear "     The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  drowned  in 

a  polite  little  snore,  and  Quentin  was  also  soon  in  the 
land  of  dreams. 


XX. 


It  was  in  that  mysterious  hour  between  midnight 
and  early  morning,  when  all  the  world  is  still,  that 
Lord  Eldon's  easily  awakened  ear,  anxious  for  the 
summons,  was  greeted  by  a  tapping  upon  the  outer 
door.  He  arose  at  once,  delighted  with  the  success 
of  his  plan.  Fearing  greatly  that  he  should  hear  a 
voice  that  he  knew,  he  called  sharply : 

"Who's  there?" 

There  was  no  answer.  This  pleased  him  beyond 
words  to  express.  He  hastily  lighted  a  candle,  whis- 
pered to  the  still  sleeping  Quentin,  "  The  enemy  is 
upon  us,"  and  went  hastily  toward  the  door.  He 
turned  the  key,  which,  heavy  and  old,  grated  in  the 
lock,  and  stuck  for  a  moment  persistently,  but  with  a 
remonstrant  screech  it  finally  gave  in  to  superior  force, 
and  Lord  Eldon  threw  open  the  door  to  find  the  lan- 
tern burning  dimlj^  but  giving  out  enough  light  to 
show  that  no  human  or  other  being  was  present.  He 
stood  there,  rubicund  and  smiling,  his  joyous  face 
giving  evidence  that  at  last  his  life-long  wish  was 
about  to  be  realized.  He  was  standing,  looking 
eagerly  down  the  stairs,  when  he  heard  a  fresh  knock- 
ing. This  time  it  sounded  within  the  room.  Re- 
entering and  locking  the  door  after  him,  he  went  back 
to  his  couch  and  awaited  further  developments. 
Either  the  sounds  of  the  second  knocking  or  else  the 
squeaking  of  the  key  had  disturbed  Quentin,  and  he 


190  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

sat  up  in  bed  half  awake,  calling  out,  as  had  Lord 
Eldon,  "Who  is  there?" 

He  had  forgotten  for  a  moment  that  his  room  held 
another  occupant  than  himself. 

His  guest  stepped  lightly  to  the  bed.  He  placed 
his  plump  hand  over  Quentin's  mouth  and  whispered 
in  his  ear :  "  Hush !  They  have  come  at  last.  Get 
up  and  let  us  watch  together." 

Quentin,  fairly  drunk  with  sleep,  slid  from  his  high 
bed  and  joined  Lord  Eldon  on  the  lounge. 

"If  the  knocking  comes  again,"  said  Lord  Eldon, 
"I  want  you  to  call  out  boldly,  '  Who  is  there?  '  " 

They  sat,  hardly  breathing,  each  with  his  own  the- 
ory regarding  the  manifestations,  and  each  anxious  to 
see  what  would  happen  next. 

The  moonlight  was  glinting  palely  in  at  the  win- 
dow, for  it  was  just  being  quenched,  so  far  as  the 
chalet  was  concerned,  by  the  trees  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  valley.  As  the  two  investigators  sat  silent, 
awaiting  developments,  there  came  three  distinct  raps 
on  the  door  leading  into  the  dressing-room.  Lord 
Eldon  started  up  as  if  to  go  toward  it,  but  Quentin 
held  him  in  his  place  with  a  whispered,  "  Wait  a  mo- 
ment." Then  to  Lord  Eldon's  surprise  the  door 
which  he  had  bolted  swung  quietly  open. 

"  By  lieavens ! "  he  exclaimed  aloud,  at  the  same 
time  springing  toward  the  doorway.  There,  nothing 
rewarded  his  gaze.  The  room  was  dark,  for  the  win- 
dows were  closed.  He  thought  that  he  heard  foot- 
steps beyond  him. 

"Give  me  a  light,  Quentin,"  he  whispered.  Quen- 
tin lighted  a  candle  with  which  he  had  been  careful  to 
supply  himself,  and  together  they  passed  through  the 
dressing-room  and  so  on  to  the  closet.     Here  a  gust 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  191 

of  air  pulsed  ui)ward,  and  Quentin  fancied  tliat  he 
heard  the  shuffle  of  a  foot  upon  the  stair.  He  ran  to 
the  stair,  and  took  a  few  steps  downward,  but  it  was 
so  pitch  dark  that  he  was  obliged  to  call  to  his  guest 
to  bring  the  light.  This  Lord  Eldon  at  once  did,  but 
upon  examination  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
was  found  to  be  securely  fastened. 

"Is  it  locked?  "  asked  Lord  Eldon. 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

"Is  the  key  in  the  lock?  " 

"No,"  said  Quentin. 

"  Any  one  possessed  of  the  key  could  easily  enter 
from  the  outside.  Oh,  dear !  Dear  me !  There  go 
all  my  hopes !  " 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  any  one  possessed  of  the 
key  could  enter  from  the  outside,  but  how  do  you  ac- 
count for  the  opening  of  the  door  into  my  room? 
You  saw  that  door  open,  which  I  myself  saw  you 
bolt." 

"H— m— m— I  forgot  that,"  said  the  nobleman. 

They  retraced  their  steps,  going  through  the  dress- 
ing-room into  Quentin's  bedroom.  "  Light  some  can- 
dles," said  Lord  Eldon. 

As  Quentin  had  taken  care  to  see  that  he  had  those 
that  would  burn,  the  apartment  was  soon  a  blaze  of 
light,  and  seemed  all  at  once  to  lose  its  mysterious 
aspect,  but  this  did  not  put  a  stop  to  the  manifesta- 
tions. There  came  a  knock  upon  the  outer  door 
again,  which  was  followed  by  three  or  four  heavy 
blows. 

"That  is  easily  done,"  said  Lord  Eldon.  "Oh, 
dear !  Oh,  dear !  My  beautiful  hope,  that  at  last  I 
was  to  see  or  hear  something  supernatural,  has  flown. 
There  is  nothing  here  that  cannot  be  explained.     Any 


192  THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

one  could  do  that— knock,  I  mean,  and  run  down  the 
stairs,  and  away  in  the  darkness,  before  you  could 
unlock  the  door.  The  key  is  bigger  than  the  key  of 
the  Bastile  and  grates  as  slowly  in  the  lock." 

"  You  forget  the  opening  of  the  door.  That  has 
still  to  be  explained,"  said  Quentin,  who  hated  to 
have  his  previous  night's  vigil  ridiculed  and  set  at 
naught. 

A  gleam  of  pleasure  lighted  up  the  round  face  of 
Lord  Eldon. 

"  We  still  may  find  a  mystery, "  he  said.  He  placed 
his  glasses  securely  on  his  nose  and  went  over  to  the 
door  of  the  dressing-room.  He  took  a  candle  from 
the  table,  bent  down,  and  scrutinized  the  fastening 
carefully.  "No  hope,"  he  said  ruefully.  "I  sus- 
pected as  much."  Quentin  joined  him,  and  together 
they  stood  regarding  the  door,  which,  when  it  had 
swung  open,  had  carried  the  hasp  and  a  square  piece 
of  the  frame  of  the  doorway  with  it.  That  part  to 
which  the  socket  for  the  bolt  was  attached  had  been 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  framework  by  having 
been  carefully  sawed  around,  and  when  the  door  had 
swung  open,  the  whole  thing  had  gone  together. 

There  was  a  perceptible  falling  of  Lord  Eldon' s 
rosy  jaw.  "  What  a  disappointment ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  see  that  they  counted  on  your  being  so  terrified 
that  you  would  on  no  account  approach  that  ghostly 
door,  and  they  thought,  naturally,  that  when  you  had 
been  driven  from  the  chalet  by  foul  means,  as  fair 
means  would  not  accomplish  it,  they  could  restore  it 
to  its  former  condition." 

"They?"  said  Quentin,  astounded.  "Whom  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  I  know  no  more  than  you." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  193 

"  But  the  motive.  You  must  always  look  for  a  mo- 
tive. What  reason  could  any  one  have  to  play  such 
a  trick  on  me?  " 

*' Ah !  that  remains  to  be  discovered,"  said  the  Eng- 
lishman. "  It  is  very  evident  that  they  do  not  want 
you  in  the  chalet  for  some  reason." 

"  What  about  the  other  night  when  I  was  here  alone? 
Could  they  do  such  a  thing  twice?  " 

"Nothing  easier,"  said  Lord  Eldon.  "Just  fit  the 
block  back  again  at  the  first  chance.  See  here! 
They've  even  oiled  it  so  that  it  would  slip  easily. 
Did  you  bolt  the  door  the  other  night?  " 

"I  don't  remember,"  said  Quentin.  "But  I  be- 
lieve I  did." 

"Who  do  you  think  is  up  to  these  tricks?  "  asked 
his  visitor. 

"  I  hardly  like  to  say.  In  the  first  place,  as  I  told 
you,  I  can  see  no  reason  for  them." 

"Do  you  suspect  Madame?"  asked  Lord  Eldon 
with  an  anxious  tone.  He  looked  at  the  younger  man 
soberly  and  keenly  as  he  spoke. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Quentin  decidedly.  Lord 
Eldon  smiled  again.  "  I  think  she  believes  as  thor- 
oughly in  a  ghost  of  some  sort  over  here  in  the  chalet, 
as  you  wish  to  believe  yourself.  Some  one  said  that 
she  always  puts  a  stranger  over  here  that  she  may 
procure  undeniable  proof  that  the  visions  do  really 
appear." 

"Has  any  one  ever  seen  an  apparition?"  asked 
Lord  Eldon,  holding  hopefully  on  to  the  last,  to  his 
hopeless  theory. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"  replied  Quentin.  "  I 
know  only  that  I  heard  nothing  the  first  night  I  slept 
here,  and  though  I  have  been  disturbed  since,  it  was 
13 


194  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

no  more  than  an  unpleasant  annoyance.  I  reall}'^ 
think,  uncanny  as  it  all  was,  my  one  desire  was  to 
have  the  thumping  stop  that  I  might  get  some  sleep. 
There  was  one  queer  occurrence  of  which  I  have  not 
told  you,"  he  added,  and  Quentin  then  related  to  his 
friend  the  circumstance  of  his  finding  the  priest 
asleep  in  the  dressing-room,  without,  however,  men- 
tioning the  part  that  Alixe  played  in  the  sequel  on 
the  following  morning. 

"  That  is  very  easily  explained, "  said  Lord  Eldon. 
"I  am  afraid  we  cannot  conjure  up  any  sort  of  mys- 
tery. When  that  little  brute,  St.  Aubin,  goes  away, 
he  carries  the  key  to  his  side  of  the  chalet,  the  rooms 
across  the  landing.  I  have  heard  Madame  complain 
about  not  being  able  to  get  into  the  apartment  to  have 
it  cleaned  until  Bruno  got  back.  The  priest,  finding 
that  he  could  not  get  into  St.  Aubin's  rooms,  where 
he  always  lodges  when  here,  got  the  key  and  entered 
from  the  outside.  He  is  like  one  of  the  family,  and 
always  has  been,  he " 

"But  why  didn't  he  sleep  in  the  chateau?  " 

"Didn't  I  hear  that  the  Archbishop  was  here  the 
first  evening?  That  would  explain  it  to  my  satisfac- 
tion." 

"  Yes,  and  to  mine.  The  first  words  that  I  heard 
him  use  were  with  regard  to  Halle's  disgrace  in  the 
church  and  his  being  an  unfrocked  priest.  Madame, 
being  a  good  Catholic,  would  obey  the  Archbishop 
to  avoid  trouble,  though  she  is,  in  a  way,  fond  of 
Halle  as  St.  Aubin's  friend;  and  though  the  Duchess 
may  think  that  Halle  is  in  no  way  to  blame,  she 
would  consult  his  feelings,  and,  moreover,  she  would 
wish  to  prevent  a  scene  in  the  house  during  His 
Grace's  visit.     Halle  himself  probably  had  his  rea- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  195 

sons  for  keeping  out  of  the  way,  and  now  tliat  St.  Au- 
bin  has  returned,  he  can  always  find  an  asylum  with 
him." 

The  words  asylum  recalled  to  Quentin's  mind  the 
reproaches  which  St.  Aubin  had  hurled  at  Halle  in 
his  presence.  He  sat  lost  in  thought.  After  a  few 
moments  he  looked  up  at  Lord  Eldon. 

"I  feel  like  a  conspirator,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  I 
shall  have  to  tell  you  what  I  unwillingly  heard  last 
evening.  The  priest  is  undoubtedly  crazy  and  imag- 
ines the  most  absurd  things,  as  I  think  you  will  agree 
with  me  when  I  have  told  you."  He  then  repeated 
to  Lord  Eldon  all  that  had  passed  from  the  moment 
when  he  was  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  finding  him- 
self close  to  St.  Aubin's  windows,  until  he  returned  to 
his  rooms  and  found  his  self-invited  guest  sitting 
there. 

"  It  does  look  as  if  the  man  was  insane,"  said  Lord 
Eldon,  "  but  if  he  is,  St.  Aubin  has  no  right  to  keep 
him  here  among  these  women.  No  one  can  answer 
for  such  an  individual.  St.  Aubin  is  certainly  very 
good  to  harbor  him  here,  but  he  had  better  think  of 
his  own  safety,  it  seems  to  me.  Some  fine  morning 
we  shall  find  him  in  that  room  with  his  throat  cut, 
for,  from  what  you  tell  me,  I  can  see  that  this  priest, 
in  his  moods,  is  capable  of  anything.  He  wishes  for 
some  reason  to  make  you  vacate  these  rooms.  You 
would  hear  if  St.  Aubin  cried  out,  and  then  you  would 
have  to  rush  in,  and  in  that  way  bring  yourself  up  as 
a  witness  in  a  very  pretty  murder  case.  If  I  were 
you,  Quentin,  I  would  not  sleep  with  the  windows  on 
the  balcony  open;  he  is  a  dangerous  fellow,  that 
priest !  To  my  certain  knowledge,  St.  Aubin  and  the 
family  have  been  supporting  him  and  defending  him 


196  THE  AECHBISHOP  A^D  THE  LADY 

for  years.  What  an  ungrateful  beast  he  must 
be." 

"  And  those  inventions "  began  Quentin. 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  suspicious,"  replied 
the  Englishman.  "  All  these  mysteries  tend  toward 
that  result,  but  there  can  be  nothing  harmful  in  a  few 
chemicals,  so  far  as  I  know.  St.  Aubin  has  never  en- 
dangered any  life  but  his  own.  Gartha's  cat,  I  be- 
lieve, is  the  single  exception." 

"  Twice  have  I  seen  into  the  interior  of  those  rooms," 
Quentin  answered.  "  Unexpectedly,  it  is  true,  and  on 
both  occasions  the  covers  of  certain  boxes  have  been 
closed  quickly  before  my  very  eyes ;  closed,  too,  on  a 
mass  of  clockwork  and  machinery." 

"  Nothing  strange  in  that,  Quentin.  I  have  a  ma- 
chine shop  myself.  If  you  will  come  to  Eldon  Tow- 
ers, as  I  hope  you  will  a  little  later,  for  the  shooting, 
I  will  reward  your  best  shots  by  showing  you  how  far 
my  experiments  have  succeeded." 

'"  This  is  the  13th,  isn't  it?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  am  late  this  year,  it  is  true,  but  I 
shan't  be  long  now,"  said  Lord  Eldon.  "Now  as  to 
machinery,  I  believe  you  have  some  fancy  that  way 
also,  haven't  you?  Now,  which  do  you  consider  the 
best  method  on  which  to  run  an  automobile,  electricity 
or  gasoline?  " 

Thus  led  away  from  the  subject  in  hand,  Quentin 
fell  into  a  long  discussion  on  the  relative  merits  of  the 
two  propelling  agencies,  which  lasted  until  the  sun 
came  pouring  in  at  the  windows  above  the  roadway, 
which  Quentin  threw  open,  and  the  priest  and  his 
strange  behavior  were  forgotten  for  a  time.  Not  en- 
tirely, however,  as  the  following  episode  will  show. 


XXI. 

Lord  Eldon  made  himself  as  presentable  as  the  cir- 
cumstances would  permit,  and  was  about  to  leave  the 
chalet  rooms  to  run  down  to  the  little  river  for  a  dip, 
as  some  one  came  running  up  the  stairs.  It  was  St. 
Aubin,  who  met  him  face  to  face. 

"You,  Eldon!"  said  he.  "You  nearly  tumbled 
me  down  again.  You  are  making  an  early  visit  to 
Quentin's  rooms." 

"I  went  there  last  night,"  answered  Lord  Eldon 
imperturbably.  "In  fact,  I  spent  the  night  in  his 
rooms." 

"You  spent  the  night  there?"  St.  Aubin's  face 
flushed  angrily,  and  then  grew  pale. 

"  Yes,  I  spent  the  night  there.  You  know,  St.  Au- 
bin, that  I  am  an  indefatigable  seeker  after  knowledge 
of  a  certain  sort.  I  had  heard  of  your  nightly  visit- 
ants, and  I  wished  to  prove  or  disprove  the  tales  by 
the  evidence  of  my  own  senses." 

"  So  you  left  the  rooms  which  my  wife  had  pre- 
pared for  you,"  began  St.  Aubin  in  an  angry,  sarcastic 
tone,  which  he  changed  almost  at  once  on  seeing  Lord 
Eldon's  haughty  and  astonished  face. 

"  Pardon  me,  St.  Aubin.  I  had  no  idea  that  there 
was  a  mystery  to  maintain.  I  came  over  here  merely 
in  the  interest  of  sci " 

"Nor  is  there  any  mystery  to  maintain,"  broke  in 
St.  Aubin.  "It  seems  strange  to  me,  however,  that 
two  of  our  guests  should  conspire " 


198  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Conspire !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Eldon  indignantly. 
"Where  is  the  conspiracy?  When  one  announces  be- 
forehand that  he  is  going  to  sit  up  and  watch  for  the 
supernatural,  he  is  certain  to  get  it,  and  plenty  of  it. 
I  have  tried  that  before.  I  nearly  killed  my  younger 
brother  Ottley,  who  thought  he  would  give  me  a 
fright.  No,  no !  I  wished  to  judge  for  myself,  with- 
out heralding  my  determination." 

"And  were  you  satisfied?"  questioned  St.  Aubin, 
looking  searchingly  into  the  face  of  his  guest. 

"  More  than  satisfied, "  replied  Lord  Eldon.  "  Come 
and  see." 

"  I  saw  Quentin  going  up  the  hill  a  half  hour  ago," 
said  St.  Aubin  as  he  turned  into  the  room.  "That 
was  the  reason  why  I  thought  it  strange  to  find  you 
here." 

"Did  you  think  I  would  run  away  with  the  tub  or 
the  candles?"  laughed  Lord  Eldon.  "From  Quen- 
tin's  account  the  candles  are  not  of  much — ha!  He 
thought  the  rooms  empty,  no  doubt!  "  This  sudden 
change  of  tone  and  subject  was  caused  by  the  sight 
which  met  his  eyes,  and  which  he  indicated  to  his 
host  with  outstretched  hand.  They  halted  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  gazing  at  the  priest,  who  was  just 
straightening  his  bent  form  from  a  close  and  obvi- 
ously hurried  scrutiny  of  the  bolt,  which  should  have 
held  the  door  in  place.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  screw- 
driver, and  as  he  started  away  from  the  neighborhood 
of  the  door,  the  partly  restored  hasp  swung  out  of 
place  and  hung  downward  with  a  tell-tale  rattle. 

"Ha!  "said  Lord  Eldon,  "evidently  thought  the 
occupant  gone ! " 

St.  Aubin  turned  on  the  priest  with  cold  anger  in 
his  look  and  tone. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY   199 

"AVliat  are  you  doing  here?  "  lie  asked  freezingly. 

Halle  stood,  looking  awkwardly  at  the  two. 

"I  am  breaking  the  eleventli  commandment,"  he 
answered  with  an  attempt  at  bravado  and  the  ghost 
of  a  smile  on  his  pale  face. 

"You  are  hopeless,  Eobert  Halle,"  exclaimed  St. 
Aubin.  "What  business  have  you  to  tamper  with 
the  doors  of  the  chalet?     Is  there  any  reason  for  it?  " 

Halle  turned  sulkily  away,  muttering  something 
about  ahvays  having  been  in  the  habit  of  repairing 
the  locks  in  the  house.  That  he  had  started  early  on 
his  rounds 

"  May  I  ask  how  Father  Halle  got  into  this  room?  " 
asked  Lord  Eldon.  "  He  was  not  here  when  I  left  it 
a  few  moments  ago,  and  did  not  pass  me  on  the  stair." 

"Through  the  window  x)robably,"  said  St.  Aubin 
carelessly.  "Don't  bother  your  head  again  about  it, 
Bob,  while  our  guests  remain.  It  is  true,  Eldon,  he 
is  in  the  habit  of  repairing  the  locks.  I  had  forgot- 
ten that."  There  was  a  sudden  rush  of  cold  air  from 
the  third  room  or  closet  which  swept  across  the  faces 
of  all  three. 

"  I  intend  with  your  permission  to  probe  this  thing 
to  the  bottom,  St.  Aubin,"  said  Lord  Eldon.  "I 
have  seen  so  much  now  that " 

"  Your  freedom  is  rather  more  than  that  of  a  guest, " 
began  St.  Aubin,  but  Lord  Eldon  had  walked  hastily 
through  the  rooms  and  to  the  further  staircase,  from 
which  now  a  faint  light  shone.  He  ran  down  the 
stairs  and  found  the  iron  door  at  the  bottom  open  the 
width  of  a  crack.  The  kej^  was  in  the  lock,  but  on 
the  outside.  St.  Aubin  had  followed  him  to  the  land- 
ing. 

Lord  Eldon  took  the  key  from  the  outside  of  the 


200  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

door,  placed  it  on  the  inside,  turned  it  in  the  lock  and 
came  hastily  up  the  stairs. 

"  I  can  see  no  reason  for  Father  Halle's  trying  to 
deceive  me, "  he  said  facing  St.  Aubin  angrily.  "  Why 
didn't  he  answer  my  question  truthfully?  " 

"Bruno,"  said  the  priest,  "how  long  are  you  go- 
ing to  allow  Lord  Eldon  to  speak  to  me  in  that  tone? 
You  said  that  I  came  in  by  the  window.  Is  not  that 
enough?  What  does  Lord  Eldon  suppose  I  want  in 
Mr.  Quentin's  rooms?  Does  he  think  that  I  wish  to 
steal  some  of  Mr.  Quentin's  belongings?  " 

"Father  Halle's  previous  record,"  began  Lord  El- 
don, now  thoroughly  angry 

"  Go  back  to  my  rooms,  Bob, "  said  St.  Aubin,  fear- 
ing a  more  serious  outbreak.  "  I  insist.  I  will  not 
have  any  quarrel  between  you  and  Lord  Eldon." 

Halle  turned  on  St.  Aubin  a  resistent  and  defiant 
stare. 

"  Go ! "  said  St.  Aubin.  He  looked  Halle  steadily 
in  the  face  for  a  moment,  and  as  he  looked,  the  priest 
began  to  waver,  then  his  eyes  fell,  he  dropped  his 
tools  with  a  loud  clang  upon  the  floor,  and  facing 
about,  he  went  out  of  the  room  and  across  to  the  op- 
posite chambers.  Lord  Eldon  then  closed  and  locked 
the  door. 

"Now,  St.  Aubin,"  said  he,  "I  wish  to  have  this 
out  with  you.  Come  over  here.  See  there !  where 
the  bolt  has  been  loosened  by  sawing  round  it.  See 
the  marks  of  the  chisel  afresh  in  those  screws."  St. 
Aubin  followed  his  guest  quickly  across  the  tiled 
floor.  He  knelt  down  and  examined  the  marks  of 
which  Lord  Eldon  spoke. 

"Yes,"  he  said  reluctantly.  "It  is  all  true.  The 
man  must  be  perfectly,  insanely  mad.     I  have  thought 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  201 

him  queer  for  some  time.  He  turns  on  me  for  the 
slightest  cause,  perhaps  some  fancied  wrong,  and  de- 
nounces me  to  my  face,  and  threatens  to  denounce  me 
to  any  or  every  one.  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with 
him.  The  poor  fellow  has  no  other  home  but  this. 
I  really  think  that  his  troubles  have  unsettled  his 
mind."  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Lord  Eldon 
opened  it,  whereupon  he  found  Eugene  standing  on 
the  threshold.  Eugene  said  that  he  had  been  sent  by 
Father  Halle  to  say  to  Lord  Eldon  that  Mr.  Quen- 
tin's  sleeve  links  were  quite  safe.  Eugene  looked 
puzzled  as  he  delivered  the  sentence  which  he  had 
been  empowered  to  repeat. 

"  That  will  do,  Eugene,"  said  St.  Aubin,  closing  the 
door. 

Then  turning  to  Lord  Eldon:  "The  man  is  un- 
doubtedly crazy.  I  cannot  see  what  spite  he  has 
against  Mr.  Quentin.  A  week  ago  he  had  never  seen 
him,  I  cannot  think  what  fancied  spite  he  has  taken 
against  you.  Of  course  I  shall  take  the  key  of  the 
door,  and  bolt  it  well,  but  a  lunatic  will  discover  some 
way  to  get  into  the  room  of  a  person  whom  he  dislikes, 
and  I  fear  that  I  cannot  be  answerable  for  Mr.  Quen- 
tin's  personal  safety,  if  he  persists  in  sleeping  in  the 
chalet." 

"And  I  should  not  be  answerable  for  Father 
Halle's,"  said  Lord  Eldon,  laughing,  "if  he  tried  any 
trick  on  Quentin.  He  is  a  capital  shot,  though  fire- 
arms do  not  enter  into  the  subject  under  discussion. 
He  was  the  coach  of  the  Harvard  eleven,  and  one  of 
the  crew  which  beat  us  over  in  England  some  years  ago 
in  athletic  sports.  He  comes  highly  recommended  in 
every  way.  I  judge  him  to  be  a  man  of  great  courage 
and  spirit,  and  I  should  not  advise  Father  Halle  to 


202  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

annoy  him  too  much ;  he  might  pitch  him  out  of  the 
window." 

St.  Aubin's  face  reddened. 

"  Then,  too,"  continued  Lord  Eldon,  "  do  you  think 
it  right  to  keep  such  an  irresponsible  person  about?  " 

St.  Aubin  tossed  his  head  backward,  as  if  to  throw 
off  a  feeling  of  irritation ;  then  he  said : 

"We  must  try  to  control  him.  We  must  watch 
him.  I  should  not  like  to  send  the  poor  fellow  to  a 
maison  de  sante,  but  if  it  comes  to  the  worst " 

And  they  left  the  room  together. 

Lord  Eldon  started  down  the  stairs. 

"  I  am  coming  down  in  a  moment,"  called  St.  Aubin 
after  his  guest.     "  Breakfast  must  be  ready." 

St.  Aubin  watched  Lord  Eldon  until  he  disap- 
peared under  the  archway  leading  out  to  the  terrace. 
Then  he  crossed  the  small  landing  and  opened  the 
door  of  his  room.  The  priest  sat  in  a  chair  by  the 
window  looking  out  upon  the  road  and  the  hillside. 
His  long  body  was  doubled  up  and  bent,  his  elbows 
were  on  his  knees,  his  head  in  his  hands. 

St.  Aubin  closed  the  door,  and  stood  staring  at  the 
tonsured  head.  Halle  did  not  appear  to  have  heard 
his  entrance.     He  did  not  look  up. 

"Well,"  said  St.  Aubin,  "what  have  you  to  say  for 
yourself?  " 

The  priest  now  raised  his  head,  and  sat  regarding 
St.  Aubin  with  half-closed  eyes,  the  lids  of  which 
trembled  visibly.  Occasionally  he  cast  them  down, 
then  took  a  long  breath,  and,  raising  his  head  deter- 
minedly, looked  his  tormentor  in  the  face. 

"What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  "  repeated  Si 
Aubin. 

There  was  silence  for  a  time. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  203 

"I  asked  you  a  question.  Did  you  hear  me? 
What  liave  you  to  say?  "  persisted  St.  Aubin. 

Halle  drew  a  sharp  breath.  Then  he  opened  his 
lips.  At  first  no  words  came,  though  they  seemed 
to  be  struggling  through  some  barrier.  He  cleared 
his  throat  hoarsely,  then  said  slowly : 

"I  told  you  in  there,"  nodding  to  the  rooms  across 
the  hall.  "I  have  broken  the  eleventh  command- 
ment—I have  been  found  out." 

"The  only  commandment  you  ever  did  break,  I 
suppose."  The  priest,  at  the  sneer  in  St.  Aubin's 
tone,  straightened  himself  and  looked  at  him  savagely. 

"Bob,"  said  St.  Aubin,  in  such  a  tone  as  a  judge 
uses  when  he  pronounces  sentence,  "  you  are  getting 
utterly  unreliable.  I  fear  that  I  cannot  keep  you  here 
longer.  Only  last  evening  I  received  a  letter  from 
the  Archbishop,  saying  he  had  heard  that  you  were 
about  here  again,  and  that  he  will  denounce  me  if  I 
harbor  you.  You  let  yourself  be  seen  outside.  I 
cannot  be  responsible  for  your  mad  acts  or  your  mad- 
der speeches.  Why,  after  a  time,  if  I  allow  you  to 
remain  here,  and  say  and  do  the  things  you  say  and 
do,  people  will  begin  to  think  that  I  am  really  the 
man  that  you  try  to  make  me  out.  They  will  begin 
to  believe  that  I,  like  some  bewildering  siren,  have 
actually  beckoned  you  from  the  path  of  rectitude, 
that  I  have  lured  you  from  the  high  plane  of  virtue, 
not  to  say  holiness;  in  fact,  you  will  finally  make 
them  believe  that  I  am  as  utterly  depraved  as  you  are 
yourself."  At  these  words  Halle  dropped  his  head 
between  his  hands.  He  spoke,  and  his  words  came 
to  St.  Aubin  in  a  sort  of  hoarse  whispered  ejaculation. 
"  Oh,  my  good  Lord ! "  he  said.  "  Oh,  my  good 
Lord!" 


204  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"He  is  not  listening,  Bob,"  said  St.  Aubin,  with  a 
grin  of  malice.  "  Eemember  that  you  are  no  longer 
a  disciple  of  holy  church;  you  are  no  longer  her 
pious,  faithful  son.  You  have  the  confidence  of  no 
one.  You  have  become  a  pariah,  Eobert,  my  some- 
time friend;  one  who  skulks  along  tlie  by-paths  of  the 
world,  a  creature  who  is  afraid  of  his  own  shadow ; 
you  have  become  that  thing  of  scorn,  an  unfrocked 
priest." 

Halle  again  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  St.  Au- 
bin. Two  words  escaped  his  lips.  "  You  devil !  "  he 
said,  and  then  again,  "  You  devil ! " 

"  Now,  Bob,  no  heroics.  Let  me  say  once  for  all, 
that  if  you  cannot  carry  out  my  orders  better  than 
you  have  of  late,  you  may  resign  the  position.  When 
Alixe  knows  all,  all  that  I  shall  tell  her,  when  I  make 
her  understand,  when  I  explain  about  Virginia  Dani- 
elli " 

As  St.  Aubin  began  to  speak,  the  priest  interrupted 
him  with  the  words,  "  And  what  about  yourself?  "  but 
at  the  name  of  Alixe  he  fell  upon  the  floor  at  St.  Au- 
bin's  feet. 

"  Mercy  !  "  he  groaned.     "  Mercy  !     Have  mercy." 

"  It  would  do  you  no  good  to  say  that  you  will  re- 
taliate. Bob;  as  the  children  say,  '  Tell  on  me.'  " 

"Have  mercy,  Bruno,  I  beg  of  you.  Have  a  little 
mercy.  She  is  the  only  soul  in  the  world  for  whom 
I  care ;  her  good  opinion  the  only  one  for  which  I 
seek." 

"  And  you  have  gone  a  good  way  to  work  to  get  it. 
Don't  try  the  moral  dodge.  Bob,"  said  St.  Aubin 
sneeringly.     "Anything  but  a  moral  priest." 

"  I  loved  her  long  before  you  thought  of  loving  her, 
Bruno,"  continued  Halle,  unheeding  the  interruption. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  205 

"  When  they  made  me  a  priest  and  cut  me  off  from 
the  chance  of  ever  telling  her  so,  they  cut  me  off  from 
all  that  earth  held  for  me  of  heaven.  She  is  the  only 
creature  that  I  believe  in.  Her  regard,  her  friendship 
are  all  that  keep  me  from  confessing  the  truth — the 
truth,  not  alone  as  it  concerns  me,  Bruno,  but  as  it 
concerns  us  both.  Do  not  push  me  too  far" — the 
man's  voice  broke — "  do — not — push  me  too  far,  or  I 
shall  confess ;  I  shall  confess  all,  from  the  day  when 
I  first  met  your  hellish  face,  to  the  very  moment, 
when  I,  on  my  own  behalf,  come  to  declare  the  truth 
about  Virginia  Danielli " 

"  It  is  high  time  that  you  took  your  departure  for 
an  asylum,  my  friend,"  said  St.  Aubin  coldly.  He 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  wretch  before  him. 
The  priest's  face  was  wet  with  streams  of  tears.  He 
was  sobbing  in  his  throat.  "A  maniac's  cell  is  the 
only  place  for  you.  The  only  thing  to  save  you  in 
the  eyes  of  those  men  is  the  suggestion  that  you  are 
insane." 

As  St.  Aubin  said  the  words,  "Those  men,"  he 
nodded  across  the  landing  toward  the  rooms  which 
Quentin  occupied. 

"You  will  not  say  it  to  her — to  Alixe,  Bruno — 
Bruno!     Bruno,  you  will  not." 

"  I  shall  wait  and  see  how  you  behave.  But  no 
more  blundering,  Father  Halle.  I  warned  you 
against  that  wild  plan,  loosening  that  block  every 
evening,  and  screwing  it  up  every  morning.  A  stu- 
pid, foolish  plan.  But  you  must  perforce  have  your 
own  way,  and  now  see  what  it  brings  upon  you !  Now, 
get  up !  Get  up,  I  say,  from  the  floor,  you  drivelling 
hound;  haven't  3'ou  any  self-res " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 


206  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Breakfast,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  the  voice  of 
CliarleSo 

"Very  well,  in  a  moment,"  called  St.  Aubin  in  his 
gayest  tones.  He  turned  to  Halle.  "Wash,  your 
face,  you  heavenly  innocent,  and  come  down  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  I  shall  make  Quentin  think 
that  you  imagine  yourself  insulted  by  him.  It  will 
be  a  devil  of  a  job,  but  don't  you  spoil  it  by  speaking 
or  trying  to  make  any  explanation,  or  it's  all  up  with 
us — with  you,  rather,  for  I  do  not  intend  to  be  ruined 
in  the  eyes  of  any  one  by  a  priestly  hireling,  whom  I 
have  fed  and  clothed  and  cared  for  since  we  were  chil- 
dren." As  St.  Aubin  finished  he  ran  out  of  the  room, 
slamming  the  door  to  behind  him  with  a  loud  bang. 
Halle  sat  and  listened  to  his  retreating  footsteps. 
His  gaze  was  fixed  moodily  on  the  floor.  He  shook 
his  head  tragically,  as  he  gazed  at  one  spot,  uncon- 
scious almost  of  what  he  was  doing.  "  Since  we  were 
children ! "  he  said.     "  Since  we  were  children ! " 


xxn. 

As  St.  Aubin  came  toward  the  recess  where  the  out- 
of-door  meal  was  laid,  he  approached  Madame  with  a 
solemn  face  and  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"  I  am  glad  that  the  Baroness  and  Mademoiselle  are 
not  down,  Mamasha.  Bob  has  been  acting  so 
strangely.  If  it  goes  on  much  longer,  we  shall  have 
to  put  him  under  restraint,  I  fear."  He  turned  to 
Quentin.  "You  know  that  those  who  are  insane  al- 
ways give  a  reason  other  than  the  real  one  for  their 
anger  against  a  certain  person  or  persons.  Now, 
Halle  is  very  much  incensed  against  you.  He  says 
that  it  is  because  you  stumbled  upon  his  ridiculously 
secret  manner  of  getting  his  automobile  apparatus  into 
the  chalet,  whereas  the  real  reason  is  that  he  fancies 
himself  in  love  with  my  wife,  and  he  sees  in  every 
chance  stranger  a  possible " 

"  Oh,  Bruno !  Do  not  say  such  things !  What  will 
Mr.  Quentin — "  Alixe's  voice  died  away,  her  face 
was  suffused  with  crimson. 

"  What  bad  taste,  Bruno !  "  said  Madame.  "  How 
can  you?    Are  you  losing  your  judgment?  " 

Quentin  raised  an  angry  glance  to  this  man 
who  could  take  such  an  occasion  to  humiliate  his 
wife. 

"  It  is  all  true,  Mamasha.  He  now  imagines  that 
Mr.  Quentin  is  his  rival  and  is  plotting " 


208  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Poor  Eobert ! "  said  Alixe,  who  had  quickly  re- 
gained her  self-possession,  "and  poor  Mr.  Quentin, 
to-  be  the  subject  of  such  ridiculous  conversation. 
Should  you  not  take  him  away,  Bruno?  I  mean 
Ptobert,  Mr.  Quentin,  not  you,"  said  Alixe,  smiling 
and  showing  her  white  teeth,  set  in  a  point  under  her 
short  upper  lip ;  "  take  him  to  some  expert,  Bruno, 
some  expert  in  Paris,  and  see  if  there  is  really  any- 
thing the  matter  with  his  mind.  Ah,  Kobert !  Here 
you  are!  Come  and  sit  by  me.  Coffee?  Chocolate? 
Or  will  you  let  me  make  you  a  cup  of  real  English 
tea?  " 

Halle  looked  the  image  of  wretchedness.  He 
glanced  furtively  at  Lord  Eldon,  who  was  sheltered 
behind  his  newspaper  deep  in  the  latest  news  of  the 
Dreyfus  scandal. 

"  What  is  the  dernier  mot  with  regard  to  I'Affaire, 
Lord  Eldon?  "  asked  Madame. 

Halle  glanced  at  Quentin,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  Lord  Eldon,  as  he  listened  to  the  want  of  testi- 
mony in  I'Affaire.  He  glanced  at  St.  Aubin,  who  had 
turned  and  was  calling  gayly  to  Valery  as  he  flashed 
along  the  terrace:  "HuUoa,  you  magnificent  Easta- 
quouere !  Where  do  you  manage  to  get  all  your  fine 
feathers?  " 

Gartha  was  hanging  upon  her  father's  arm,  and 
the  laughter  of  the  child  and  the  hearty  answering 
shout  of  the  gentleman,  "From  Africa,  faith! 
It  isn't  so  much  the  feathers,  me  jool,  as  the  way 
in  which  you  wear  'em,"  filled  the  morning  air. 
Every  one  turned  to  watch  the  approach  of  this 
gorgeous  person  but  the  priest.  He  sank  into  a 
chair  at  the  side  of  Alixe,  his  attitude  spiritless  and 
hopeless. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  209 

"You  angel!"  he  murmured  under  his  breath. 
"  You  dear  angel.     My  saint !     My  saint ! " 

"Don't,  Eobert,"  she  said,  gravely,  as  she  gave 
him  a  friendly  clasp,  which  was  quickly  shortened, 
as  he  saw  fit  to  press  her  hand  too  closely  within  his 
own.  "You  have  been  working  too  hard,  Eobert. 
We  must  have  some  excursions.  They  will  be  good 
for  you  all.  I  have  been  selfish.  Gartha,  would  you 
like  a  picnic?  Don't  you  remember  our  old  picnics, 
Eobert?  We  must  think  where  to  go,  and  decide 
upon  the  day,  must  not  we,  little  Gartha?  " 

Quentin  could  hardly  repress  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
gust as  he  saw  her  evident  friendliness  for  the  priest 
in  whom  he  had  concluded  that  all  the  cardinal  sins 
had  found  refuge. 

"You  dear  angel!"  repeated  Halle  in  a  low  tone. 
"Eather  than  give  you  one  moment's  unhappiness  I 
would  go  away — "  he  broke  off  and  bit  his  lip.  A 
tear-drop  fell  upon  the  hand  which  held  out  his  cup 
to  him.  Quentin,  although  he  had  withdrawn  his 
eyes,  looked  again,  he  could  not  help  it;  he  was  jjuz- 
zled  at  what  he  saw  on  the  face  of  the  priest,  and  at 
the  wondering  sadness  in  the  eyes  of  Alixe.  He  heard 
nothing  of  what  they  were  saying,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  she  looked  at  her  old  playfellow  with  eyes 
of  pity,  because  she  heard  in  his  words,  whatever  the}' 
might  have  been,  but  the  ravings  of  an  incipient  mad- 
man. 

"  But  there  is  no  question  of  giving  unhappiness, 
Eobert,"  said  Alixe  gently.  "I  received  the  blow  of 
my  life  some  days  ago — last  week,  was  it  not?  I  can- 
not remember.  It  seems  ages  ago  that  I  heard  that 
dreadful  news.  I  wanted  only  a  little  time  before  I 
faced  the  world  again.  You  are  sorr}^  for  me,  I  know, 
14 


210  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Eobert.  You  would  have  prevented  that  sorrow  com- 
ing into  my  life  could  you  have  done  so,  that  I  also 
know." 

Halle  leaned  toward  her  and  said  under  his  breath, 
in  agonized  whispers : 

"  Oh,  say  that  again,  Alixe ;  say  that  again ! " 

"Yes,  I  will  say  it  again  if  you  wish,  but  that  can 
change  nothing,  Robert.     These  matters  are  not  the 
work  of  human  agency ;  "  her  tone  was  low  and  sol- 
emn; "they  are  the  acts  of  God.     As  such,  we  must 
accept  them  and  not  complain." 

Halle  leaned  nearer.  He  looked  up  into  her  face,  as 
an  animal  gazes  upon  a  worshipped  master. 

"Alixe,"  he  whispered  eagerly,  seemingly  forget- 
ful of  every  one  but  the  woman  before  him, 
"Alixe,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  you — to  confess  to 
you " 

"Bob!"  It  was  St.  Aubin's  rasping  voice,  calling 
from  the  further  end  of  the  table.  "  What  are  you 
going  into  heroics  about?  You  skeleton  of  religion, 
you  ghostly  sham-expounder  of  the  faith  of  holy 
church !  You  are  not  handsome  enough,  Bobby,  dar- 
ling, with  your  hollow  eyes,  and  your  lank  figure,  to 
confess  to  the  ladies.  It  takes  a  prelate  like  our  friend 
the  Archbishop  to " 

Alixe  broke  hurriedly  in  upon  St.  Aubin's  taunts. 

"No,  no,  Robert,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  patting 
kindly  the  hand  of  her  old  friend.  She  felt  that  his 
mind,  never  very  strong,  must  have  been  temporarily 
unhinged  by  his  troubles,  troubles  which  he  fancied 
greater  than  they  were.  The  Archbishop  might  warn 
them  all  against  him,  and  she  valued  the  Archbishop's 
opinion,  no  one's  more;  but  he  could  not  force  her  to 
desert  her  old  playmate  or  to  make  her  believe  that 


I 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  211 

he  had  erred  intentionally.  "  Come  here,  little  Gar- 
tha,"  she  called,  "  and  tell  me  where  you  would  like  to 
go  for  our  x:>icnic."  She  smiled  at  the  child,  although 
her  face  seemed  now  to  wear  a  settled  mask  of  sad- 
ness. Gartha  left  her  father  and  danced  gayly  up  to 
Alixe.  Quentin  glanced  at  the  priest.  He  sat  look- 
ing at  his  untasted  cup  and  gnawing  his  thin  under  lip. 


xxm. 

QuENTiN  did  not  see  anything  of  Alixe  for  some  days. 
After  that  one  appearance  at  breakfast,  she  kept  to 
her  own  room  very  closely.  The  only  answer  that 
Quentin  got  from  any  one,  when  he  asked  each  day 
as  to  the  state  of  her  health,  was  that  she  had  a  slight 
cold.  He  wondered  if  anything  more  serious  kept 
her  away  from  the  circle  gathered  under  her  roof,  and 
whether  her  malady  were  physical  or  mental. 

Meanwhile  Madame,  the  ever-perennial,  divided  her 
attentions  between  Quentin  and  Lord  Eldon,  taking 
first  one  and  then  the  other  on  exploring  expeditions 
among  the  hills  and  valleys  that  surrounded  the  fav- 
ored situation  of  I'Abbaye  de  Bref.  Quentin  saw 
Lord  Eldon  depart  for  his  first  drive  with  Madame 
with  a  subdued  smile  upon  his  lips.  He  had  driven 
with  her  on  the  day  previous,  and  the  sauce  for  one 
goose  seemed  to  be  flavored  in  exactly  the  same  manner 
and  served  up  just  as  delicately  as  for  the  other. 
Quentin  felt  pretty  sure  that  he  knew  just  the  sweet 
little  starts  and  surprised  exclamations  to  which 
Madame  was  treating  Lord  Eldon,  and  he  wondered 
with  a  strange  feeling  somewhat  akin  to  jealousy  if 
the  starts  and  exclamations  were  any  sweeter  or  more 
frequent  in  the  case  of  the  one  than  of  the  other — the 
one  being  the  British  peer,  the  other  himself. 

Madame  was  an  extremely  attractive  woman,  of  that 
there  was  not  the  very  slightest  doubt.  She  was  in 
appearance  much  younger  than  her  years.     She  wore 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  213 

a  high  pleated  lace  close  about  her  throat  at  the  spot 
where  age  the  soonest  asserts  itself.  Upon  her  pretty 
blonde  head  she  wore  a  dainty  round  hat  with  frills  of 
white  mousseline  de  sole,  and,  enveloping  this,  a  vol- 
uminous white  veil,  upon  which  many  bouquets  of 
flowers  and  numerous  vines  and  scriggles  wandered, 
concealing  any  incipient  wrinkle  which  might  be 
growing  more  pronounced  upon  her  fine  skin.  Her 
face  was  so  concealed  that,  but  for  the  occasional  flash 
of  her  really  handsome  eyes  and  the  tender  pleading 
of  her  aifectionate  voice,  one  would  hardly  have  recog- 
nized this  feminine  Jehu  who  sat  so  upright  in  the  lit- 
tle phaeton  and  drove  the  spirited  horses  with  the  skill 
of  an  Englishwoman.  One  must  not  reckon  without 
Madame's  youthful  figure.  If  not  so  tall  as  Alixe, 
she  held  herself  straighter,  perhaps,  because  of  that, 
and  when  one  looked  for  the  initial  time  on  what 
Miss  Spencer  had  called  "Mamasha's  phenomenal 
back,"  one  knew  not  whether  the  face  which  he  would 
shortly  behold  would  be  that  of  a  young  girl  or  a  face 
which  had  charmed  its  admirers  for  more  than  two- 
score  years. 

Both  Quentin  and  Lord  Eldon  had  been  persuaded 
to  extend  the  length  of  their  visits.  To  Quentin  the 
place  and  its  surroundings  were  of  a  growing  fascina- 
tion, and  every  day  found  him  more  unwilling  to  leave 
them.  Lord  Eldon  also  seemed  content  to  remain. 
So,  with  the  exception  of  Valery,  the  house  party  had 
not  changed  since  the  exodus  on  the  second  da,j  of 
Quentin 's  stay.  Both  men  thought  that  they  had 
solved  the  mystery  of  the  nightly  visitants.  There 
was  still  a  show  of  keeping  up  the  knockings,  but  as 
they  came  now  either  directly  underneath  Quentin's 
room,  or  on  his  outer  door,  he  felt  quite  sure  that 


214  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

they  liad  been  of  the  priest's  designing,  for  since  the 
door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  had  been  locked,  and 
Lord  Eldon  had  hidden  the  key,  no  one  knew  where, 
the  dressing  room  and  the  little  closet  had  echoed  no 
more  to  the  fall  of  ghostly  footsteps.  The  two  men 
gave  Halle  the  coldest  nods  of  recognition  when  they 
met  him.  Sometimes  this  was  not  for  a  day  or  two. 
The  man  seemed  to  disappear.  He  was  seldom  at  the 
table,  and  but  for  the  occasional  flutter  of  his  black  robe 
in  the  distance,  or  upon  the  chalet  stair,  he  seemed  to 
have  vanished  entirely  from  the  life  of  the  chateau. 

It  was  on  the  second  day  after  the  withdrawal  of 
Alixe  to  her  own  rooms  that  Madame  had  started  out 
for  her  alternate  flirtation  with  Lord  Eldon.  It  mat- 
tered not  so  much  to  Madame  (and  this  Quentin,  with 
a  lingering  feeling  of  pride  in  her  attentions  to  him- 
self, was  obliged  to  confess  to  his  inmost  soul)  who 
was  the  object  of  her  ephemeral  devotion.  The  affec- 
tion always  sprang  full-fledged  from  a  breast  where  it 
was  ever  Spring.  Her  eyes  always  told  the  alternate 
that  he  and  he  alone  was  the  chosen  recipient  of  that 
affection. 

St.  Aubin  had  withdrawn  to  his  own  rooms,  leav- 
ing Quentin  to  discuss  the  comparative  merits  of  sin- 
gle stitch  and  cross  stitch  with  the  Baroness,  who 
was  engaged  in  making  (so  she  informed  Quentin)  a 
reproduction  of  the  Bayeux  tapestry.  After  having 
admired,  ad  nauseam,  the  fiftieth  sketch  of  the  Ab- 
bey, done  by  Mademoiselle,  which  was  perhaps  less 
like  it  than  any  of  its  predecessors,  he  got  up  and 
strolled  away,  hardly  knowing  what  to  do  with  himself, 
until  his  fair-and-forty  enslaver  should  return  and 
deal  out  to  him  the  remaining  dregs  of  affection  which 
she  had  not  dribbled  away  upon  the  British  peer. 


XXIY. 

As  Quentin  lounged  along,  cigar  alight,  hands  in 
pockets,  he  found  himself  at  the  end  of  the  terrace 
and  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  steps  which  he  had  not 
seen  before.  He  descended  the  steps  and,  as  he 
walked,  trying  to  reason  out  in  his  beclouded  mind 
many  a  perplexing  surmise,  he  heard  a  voice  call- 
ing to  him.  It  came  from  above  his  head.  Quen- 
tin stopped  and  looked  upward.  Gartha  was  perched 
on  the  top  of  the  wall  under  the  shadow  of  a  large 
tree  which  stood  some  distance  back  from  the  boun- 
dary of  the  domain,  its  sweeping  branches,  however, 
throwing  a  delightful  shade  across  the  child's  posi- 
tion. 

"Come  up  here,  Mr.  Quentin,"  called  Gartha. 

"How  shall  I  get  up  there? "  asked  Quentin,  noth- 
ing loath,  but  seeing  no  way  to  manage  it.  "  How 
did  you  get  there?  " 

"Easily  enough,"  answered  Gartha.  "Go  on  a  lit- 
tle way  and  you  will  find  the  escalier — stairs,  I  mean. 
It  is  so  hard  not  to  speak  it,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

Quentin  laughed  as  he  walked  onward.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  came  to  a  small  flight  of  stone  steps,  built 
against  the  inner  side  of  the  wall.  They  were  so  nar- 
row that  he  was  forced  to  plant  one  foot  carefull}'  be- 
fore the  other  in  ascending.  Once  or  twice  he  was  in 
danger  of  losing  his  balance,  at  which  Gartha  laughed 
aloud  unfeelingly. 


216  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  fall,  Mr.  Quentin ;  yet  nom  de 
Dieu !  qsb  me  ferait  beaucoup  de  plaisir ! "  called  the 
child.  "Valery  once  tried  to  get  up  here,  but  his 
figure  would  not  allow  it.  O !  Voila !  O,  mon  Dieu ! 
Q'est  epatant!"  This  because  Quentin,  in  looking 
upward,  had  lost  his  balance,  and  was  forced  to  spring 
to  the  ground. 

"  That's  a  very  contradictory  statement,"  said  Quen- 
tin, smiling  gayly  up  at  her.  "  Now  you  may  laugh 
as  much  as  you  please,  I  shall  be  up  there  in  two 
minutes. " 

"Do  you  recognize  this  spot?  "  asked  Gartha  as  he 
seated  himself  by  her  side  on  the  tiled  roof  of  the 
wall. 

"  Yes, "  answered  Quentin,  "I  think  so.  Isn't  this 
the  very  place  where  you  and  I  first  made  acquaint- 
ance with  each  other?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  very  spot,  and  there  is  a  little  porte — 
door,  I  mean — along  there  near  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
where  Alixe  came  in  that  night,  when  she  was  calling 
me,  you  know,  after  meeting  with  that  horrid  Father 
Halle." 

"  Then  you  don't  like  Father  Halle." 

"  Ah,  bah,  non !  I  am  on  His  Grace's  side.  I  am  a 
Catholic  child,  but  if  I  was  not,  Mr.  Quentin,  don't 
you  think  any  one  would  nat-nat-naturally  love  His 
Grace  and  hate  Robert  Halle?  " 

"Well,"  said  Quentin,  smiling  down  on  the  thin, 
eager  face,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  should  love  or  hate 
either  one.  I  shouldn't  take  enough  interest.  You 
use  strong  language  for  so  small  a  girl." 

Gartha  plumed  herself  and  raised  her  head  like  a 
young  turkey. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  they  all  say,  I  have  very  decided 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  217 

con — con-victions.  Then  you  don't  like  my  dear 
Arclibisliop?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do !  I  like  His  Grace  immensely,  but 
as  to  loving  him,  I  leave  that  to  the  ladies." 

"  Mamasha  loves  him,  I  am  certain.  I  believe  if  he 
was  not  a  sacerdotal  she  would  marry  him  on  the  first 
occasion." 

Quentin  experienced  that  slight  feeling  of  sinkage 
about  the  region  of  the  heart  which  results  to  mortals 
when  they  discover  that  they  alone  have  not  uncon- 
trolled possession  of  a  certain  well-spring  of  affection, 
fatal  as  such  possession  may  be. 

"  You  must  not  talk  so  about  Madame  Petrofsky, " 
said  Quentin  loyally,  in  as  severe  a  voice  as  he  could 
muster,  "  or  about  the  Archbishop  either.  Little  girls 
should " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  saw  and  not  heard;  but  if  I  must 
not  be  saw  or  heard,  I  have  saw  and  heard  for  my 
own  self." 

"How  old  are  you? "  asked  Quentin. 

"I'm  nearly  seven,"  said  Gartha,  pressing  her  lips 
together  with  a  self-conscious  air;  "  but,  then,  I'm  ex- 
tremely pre— pre— what  is  it  lam,  Mr.  Quentin?" 

"  Precocious?  "  asked  Quentin  with  becoming  grav- 
ity. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  what  Mr.  le  Maurier  said.  Did  you 
ever  see  Mamasha  hang  on  to  His  Emnunce's  hand? 
The  big  one  with  the  ring  on  it." 

"  I  don't  know  any  His  Eminence,"  replied  Quentin. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  It's  the  Archbishop;  but  I 
think  he  ought  to  be  a  cardinal,  so  I  called  him  His 
Emnunce.  One  day  when  the  Cardinal  came  to  see 
us  in  Paris  I  called  him  Your  Grace,  and  Mamasha 
sent  me  to  bed  for  it.     She  never  hung  on  to  the  Car- 


218  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

dinal's  hand.  He  is  much  too  old  for  the  vanities  of 
this  life,  Marie  Monrouge  says ;  but  I  saw  her  go  to 
kiss  the  Archbishop's  hand  one  day,  and  she  said, 
'You  dear!'  And  the  queer  thing  was  My  Emnunce 
did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  gene  about  it.  You  see,  the 
Cardinal  is  a  person  qu'on  ne  peut  pas  tromper." 

"  Where  does  this  road  lead  to?  "  asked  Quentin,  in- 
dicating the  highway  which  ran  at  the  foot  of  the  wall. 

"  I  do  not  know.  What  do  you  think  Eobert  Halle 
wanted  with  Alixe  that  night?  " 

Quentin  put  on  his  most  severe  expression.  "  Had 
your  aunt  wished  us  to  know, "  he  said,  "  she  would 
have  told  us ;  as  she  did  not " 

"  It  was  only  to  give  Eobert  the  key  to  the  west 
wing  of  the  chalet.     She  told  me  so." 

"And  you  are  telling  me;  that  is  very  wrong,  "said 
Quentin,  secretly  delighted  that  Alixe  had  made  no 
mystery  of  her  actions  to  the  child. 

"  She  said — I  mean  Alixe — that  poor  Robert  had 
been  hounded  by  the  church,  and  had  not  where  to 
lay  his  head.  That's  in  the  prayer-book,  is  it  not, 
Mr.  Quentin?  And  she  said  that  if  Uncle  Bruno- 
how  I  hate  my  Uncle  Bruno !  She  said  that  if  Uncle 
Bruno  were  here  he  would  give  him  a  pied-a-terre  un- 
til the  trouble  had  blown  over.  When  will  the  trouble 
blow  over,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

"  How  do  I  know,  Gartha?  Do  you  know  that  you 
are  a  very  naughty  little  girl  to  repeat  this  to  me?  If 
your  aunt  wished  me  to  know  it,  she " 

"  I  have  not  told  it  to  any  one  else,  and  I  know  you 
will  not,"  said  Gartha.  "What  is  it  Ada  Spencer 
says?  Oh,  yes!  Give  me  away!  She  says  that  is 
pure  American.  What  nice  things  one  can  say  in 
American.     I  know  very   much   of  American,   Mr. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  219 

Quentin.  I  know  'a  perfect  jay  '  and  'straight  as  a 
string.'     Harry  Ware  taught  me  of  those." 

"And  who  is  Harry  Ware?  "  asked  Quentin.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  I  hear  of  some  new  acquaintance  of 
yours  every  day." 

"  Oh,  he's  another  of  Mamasha's.  He  said  she  had 
him  straight  as  a  string  and  he  felt  like  thirty-nine 
cents.  Did  you  ever  feel  like  thirty-nine  cents,  Mr. 
Quentin?  (Quelle  est  la  monnaie  de  cuivre  en  Angle- 
terre — I  mean  is  the  thirty-nine  cents  of  that  money 
of  copper?)  " 

"No,"  said  Quentin,  "I  don't  think  I  ever  did." 

"  When  I  asked  Alixe  what  it  meant,  she  said  that 
he  could  not  be  of  our  set.  When  I  asked  Valery,  he 
said  he  must  be  an  outsider.  When  I  asked  Made- 
moiselle what  it  meant  to  feel  like  thirty-nine  cents, 
she  said  it  was  a  prix  fixe.  It  was  just  like  throwing 
off  the  louis,  the  franc,  or  the  centime.  The  Weasel 
said  she  thought  Harry  Ware  must  be  a  commis  voy- 
ageur.  I  asked  Harry  Ware  if  he  was — a  commis  voy- 
ageur,  I  mean — and  he  gave  me  a  blow  of  the  eye,  and 
said  no,  he  did  not  think  so.  Valery  said  I  was 
speaking  the  Greek  to  him.  How  could  I  speak  the 
Greek  to  Harry  Ware?  I  cannot  speak  the  Greek  to 
any  one  else.  Valery  said  that  if  I  had  asked  him  if 
he  was  a  bummer,  no,  I  mean  drummer,  he  would 
have  understood  me.  Harry  Ware  was  lovely !  He 
had  some  sort  of  strange,  flat  boxes  in  his  rooms,  and 
one  day  when  I  was  visiting  him  " — Quentin  drew  his 
breath  at  this  astounding  confession — "  he  opened  one 
and  gave  me  some  lovely  square  bits  of  cloth.  He 
gave  them  for  my  dolla." 

"  Stop  a  moment.  Let  me  ask  you  how  you  came 
to  be  visiting  Mr.  Harry  Ware?  " 


220  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu !  Do  you  not  know  that  he  had 
your  apartments  in  the  chalet?  Alixe  was  in  Paris. 
She  scolded  me  well  when  she  came  back.     Mamasha 

was  walking  with  Monsieur  le  Maurier  and " 

"Well,  go  on,"  said  Quentin  impatiently,  "go  on!" 
"  He  told  me  many  strange  stories  of  his  adventures. 
He  said  that  once  a  man  gave  him  a  box  full  of  choco- 
late. He  called  it  a  trunk.  I  thought  that  only  ele- 
phants was  possessed  with  trunks,  Mr.  Quentin ;  and 
he  paid  Harry  Ware's  expenses,  the  man  that  gave 
the  chocolate  did,  to  Mon  Keal. "  Gartha  meant  Mon- 
treal. "Where  is  Mon  Eeal,  Mr.  Quentin?"  Not 
waiting  for  a  reply :  "  And  he  got  hungry,  Harry  Ware 
did.  He  said  food  was  scarce.  How  could  food  be 
scarce?  I  never  knew  of  food  that  it  was  scarce,  Mr. 
Quentin !  And  he  ate  up  all  the  chocolate ;  and  he 
said  they  had  not  seen  him  since.  When  he  said 
that  he  laughed  very  loud  and  gave  some  coup  of  the 
foot,  so,  on  the  gravel,  flat !  He  danced  a  few  steps — 
oh,  mon  Dieu !  He  made  me  to  laugh.  He  said  it 
was  the  double-shufiler.  What  is  a  double-shuffler, 
Mr.  Quentin?     Can  you  dance  one?  " 

"No,"  said  Quentin,  "I  have  never  learned  that  ac- 
complishment. You  mean,  I  suppose,  a  double- 
shuffle." 

"Yes,"  said  Gartha,  whose  face  had  fallen  at  Quen- 
tin's  declaration  that  he  had  never  learned  the  double- 
shuffle. 

"Well,  no  matter,"  she  said  in  an  encouraging  tone. 
"Perhaps  you  can  learn  some  day.  Harry  Ware 
could  teach  you— but  no,  I  forgot,  Harry  Ware  will 
never  come  back  here  again. " 

"Why  not?"  asked  Quentin. 

"Because  I  showed  Mamasha  a  little  echantillon 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  221 

and  told  her  what  Mademoiselle  and  Yalery  had  re- 
marked, and  she  said"— here  Gartha's  body  took  on 
a  swinging  motion  from  her  waist  upward ;  she  swayed 
from  side  to  side ;  she  pursed  out  her  lips,  and  mouthed 
exaggeratedly,  and  repeated  in  a  sing-song  tone,  which 
kept  time  to  the  nodding  of  her  head :  " '  That  is  the 
last  of  Henery  Ware ! '  That's  what  Mamasha  said, 
'That  is  the  last  of  Henery  Ware ! '  She  was  of  a 
rongeur,  Mamasha !  Valery  said  it  was  tragic.  What 
is  tragic,  Mr.  Quentin?  Mamasha  was  very  fond  of 
that  jeune  horn  me,  and  Harry  Ware  was  very  fond  of 
her  until  Alixe  came  along;  she  always  does,  you 
know." 

"Always  does  what?  "  asked  Quentin. 

''Come  along.  When  I'm  big,  I'm  going  to  wear 
my  hair  all  pulled  over  my  ears  with  silver  combs  and 
look  at  the  men  without  seeing  them,  and  take  them 
all  away  from  Mamasha.  I  shall  try.  Valery  says 
Alixe  doesn't  try.  Valery  says  they  just  flock.  I 
wonder  if  they  will  flock  when  I'm  big.  There  was 
one  very  queer  thing  about  Harry  Ware.  He  called 
Charles  Monsieur;  Misshure!  so!  Valery  said  that 
was  because  he  was  a  outsider.  What  is  a  outsider, 
Mr.  Quentin?  He  said,  I  mean  Harry  Ware,  that 
my  Uncle  Bruno  was  probably  the  worse  thing  that 
ever  happened.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  Harry 
Ware  meant,  Mr.  Quentin ;  but  you  know  how  I  hate 
my  Uncle  Bruno,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  thought 
as  he  did." 

"  Where  did  this  refined  young  gentleman  live  when 
he  was  at  home?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  know  he  said  that  at  his  place 
they  had  a  long  fall  and  a  late  freeze-up.  What  is  a 
fall,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 


222  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"He  meant  autumn,"  said  Quentin.  "I  say  that, 
too.     We  always  say  it  in  America." 

"Are  you  an  American?"  asked  Gartha,  with  a 
dawning  look  of  horror  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes.     What  of  it?" 

"Why — why — I  thought  they  were  all  the  very 
dreadfulest  people.  Quelquechose  abominable! 
When  once  I  asked  Marie  Monrouge  why  Americans 
acted  so,  she  just  said,  '  Q'est  la  race ! '  Harry  Ware 
showed  me  a  ring  Mamasha  gave  him.     It  was " 

"I  am  not  interested  in  Mr.  Ware's " 

"  A  twisted  sort  of  chain,  with  dark  blue  stones  in 
it." 

(So  that  was  the  reason  why  Madame 's  pretty  fin- 
ger was  unadorned  with  the  sapphire  ring  that  she 
had  slii)f5ed  off  his  finger  in  playful  mood  on  the  sands 
one  bright  day  and  had  forgotten  to  return.) 

"  I  asked  Harry  Ware  to  give  it  to  me,  but  he  said 
he  would  have  hocked  it  long  ago,  but  that  the  old 
girl  would  raise  Hail  Columbia.  What  is  it  to 
hock " 

"  Had  you  any  idea  whom  he  meant  by  '  the  old 
girl '  ?  "  asked  Quentin  drily. 

"  Valery  said  it  was  sa  faute.  He  said  she  had  no 
discrim — oh,  well — well — n — no — well,  yes,  a  lit- 
tle," thus  stammering,  as  Quentin  fixed  her  with 
his  eye,  where  she  saw  disapproval.  She  changed 
the  subject  hurriedly.  "And  then  Monsieur  le  Mau- 
rier  came.  I  do  not  know  where  Mamasha  got  him. 
Valery  said  at  Treport.  He  said  he  though  t  Mam  asha 
was  a  little  ashamed  of  him  before  you.  You  know 
who  I  mean,  Mr.  Quentin,  the  one  Lord  Eldon  said 
about,  '  The  third  Napoleon,  by  Jove ! '  I  do  not 
like  that  Monsieur  le  Maurier.     Je  suis  bien  fache 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  223 

centre  Monsieur  le  Maurier.  He  eats  of  clieese  with 
the  fork." 

"Do  you  always  have  as  excellent  reasons  for  your 
likes  and  dislikes  of  people?  " 

Gartha  nodded.  Gartha's  words  had  recalled  to 
Quentin's  mind  the  little  gentleman  with  the  waxed 
moustache  and  the  Roman  nose,  whom  he  had  at  once 
thought  the  very  counterpart  of  the  Third  Napo- 
leon. 

"  Don't  you  remember?  That  was  the  evening  that 
Alixe  wore  her  diamonds  and  Monsieur  le  Maurier 
exclaimed,  '  Mon  Dieu !  Madame  la  Duchesse  a  les 
manieres  et  la  taille  d'une  Imperatrice ! '  When  I 
told  Mamasha,  she  sent  me  to  bed.  I  usually  have  to 
me  coucher,  depart  for  my  bed — I  mean,  for  those 
others — them  remarks.  Then,  the  next  morning  he 
came  when  I  was  alone  in  the  ruins,  and  how  he  did 
put  to  me  the  question." 

"  Put  questions  to  you !     What  about?  " 

"  Oh,  nom  de  Dieu !  I  know  not  exactly.  I  re- 
member that  he  asked  me  about  you " 

"About  me?"  returned  Quentin  in  astonishment. 

Gartha  nodded.  "  He  said,  '  W^ere  you  very  inti- 
mate with  my  Uncle  Bruno,  and  did  you  help  him 
with  his  chemicals?  '     And  I  said,  '  God  forbid ! '  " 

"  There  was  no  necessity  for  such  extravagant  de- 
nial as  that.     You  might  just  have  said " 

"  I  wanted  him  to  understand  once  and  for  all  the 
days  that  you  were  no  friend  of  my  Uncle  Bruno. 
You  know  how  I  hate  my  Uncle  Bruno.  W^h}^,  even 
Alixe  knows  all  about  it.  Then  he  asked  me  about 
Robert  Halle ;  more  about  him  than  any  one.  I  made 
out  as  bad  a  case  against  Robert  Halle  as  I  could. " 

"What  case  could  you  make  out  against  Father 


224  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Halle?  "  asked  Quentin,  laughing  in  spite  of  himself. 
" L  am  sure  he  has  always  been  very  good  to  you." 

"Oh,  oui,  tres  poli,  but  I  do  not  like  his  ways," 
answered  Gartha.  "  I  told  Monsieur  le  Maurier  that 
he  had  strange  men  coming  to  see  him,  men  who  are 
not  of  our  condition,  gens  de  la  basse  classe ;  that  once 
I  viewed  him  behind  the  mill  talking  with  a  very  bad 
looking  person  and  taking  a  parcel  of  him." 

"That  is  nothing  against  him,"  argued  Quentin. 
"Many  people  look  bad  who  are  not  bad." 

"  Monsieur  le  Maurier  gave  me  a  box  of  sweets  and 
promised  more  when  he  came  again.  Candied  fruits 
of  Potin.  Yes,  he  is  but  an  epicier,  that  I  know;  but 
those  are  the  things  that  I  like  best  of  tout  Paris. 
And  when  he  left,  he  beckoned  to  me  this  way,  '  Come 
here !  Come  here ! ' "  Gartha  crooked  her  little 
brown  finger  and  beckoned  to  her  imaginary  double. 
"  And  he  said,  '  Now  all  of  as  two '  " 

"We  two " 

"  We  two  have  a  secret  together.  Be  sure  you  find 
out  all  that  the  priest  does,  and  do  not  tell  any  one 
but  me,  Jean  le  Maurier." 

"And  this  is  how  you  keep  5' our  promise,"  Quentin 
laughed  again.  "Don't  be  afraid,  I  will  not  tell;  but 
I  think  it  a  very  strange  thing  that  a  gentleman  should 
come  here  ostensibly  to  visit  your — ahem ! — to  visit 
Madame,  and  ask  you  to  spy  upon  her  friends.  Did 
you  tell  her?  " 

"  No,  but  I  told  Valery,  and  he  said  Mr.  Le  Mau- 
rier was  probly  a  emissry  of  the  Archbishop. " 

"  So  your  father  knows?  " 

"  Yes,  and  Alixe.  And  Alixe  said  to  Mamasha  that 
Monsieur  le  Maurier  should  never  come  to  the  Abbey 
again,  and  Mamasha  said  that  Alixe  was  jealous  with 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  225 

her.  Just  as  if  Alixe  could  not  get  tliem  with  the 
crook  of  her  little  finger.     That  is  what  Valery  said." 

"  So  that  is  the  way  you  keep  people's  secrets !  I 
must  be  careful  how  I  trust  you."  Gartha's  lip 
drooped,  which,  Quentin  seeing,  did  his  best  to  reas- 
sure her  by  a  kinder  tone.  "  And  what  did  Madame 
say  to  all  this?  " 

"  Who?  Mamasha?  Oh,  she  did  not  care  so  much 
as  we  have  thought.  You  see  by  that  time  Alixe  had 
come  along,  and  Monsieur  le  Maurier  had  forgotten 
all  about  Mamasha.  He  came  just  after  Mamasha 
said,  'That  is  the  last  of  Henry  Ware.'  Do  not  let 
her  know  I  told  you,  Mr.  Quentin!  I  do  get  so  many 
scoldings."  The  child  sighed.  "But  I  am  glad 
Robert  Halle  has  gone.  I  do  hate  him  with  his  long 
dress  and  snaky  eyes." 

"  Gone?  "  said  Quentin. 

"I  have  not  seen  him  since  before  yesterday,"  said 
Gartha. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  for  a  walk  with  me?  Come ! 
Let  us  go  for  a  little  run  up  the  hill." 

Gartha  immediately  arose,  saying,  "Yes,  and  I'll 
show  you  where  my  squirrels  are,  a  tree  just  the 
other  side  of  the  glade.  Tout  pres,  tout  pres !  Ah, 
bah !  that  French  again ! "  She  began  to  descend  the 
narrow  little  steps.  "  Do  you  know  where  the  Weasel 
is,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  a  weasel,"  said  Quentin, 
as  he  sprang  down  from  the  top  of  the  wall.  "  You 
see  that  I  got  down  the  quickest  after  all !  What  a 
narrow  little  staircase !  " 

"  Marie  Monrouge  says  that  a  Eeligious  made  that 
stair.  She  got  out  and  builded  it  in  a  single  night, 
all  to  go  off  with  a  nobleman,  a  marquis  who  was  in 
15 


226  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

love  of  her."  Quentin  raised  his  ej'es  to  the  stair- 
way. 

"  I  don't  think  she  could  have  laid  those  stones," 
he  said.     "  Certainly  not  in  a  single  night." 

"  And  the  idea  of  leaving  the  warm  bed  and  steal- 
ing out  to  build  a  wall  to  go  away  with  a  nobleman. 
Noblemen  are  dreadful  vauriens.  I  never  saw  any 
noblemen  but  my  Uncle  Bruno,  and  Alixe's  duke, 
and  I  never  saw  him." 

"Lord  Eldon,"  suggested  Quentin. 

**  Yes,  and  the  Lord  Eldon.  Valery  says  the  higher 
the  title  the  deeper  the  game.  He  says  that  you  can 
never  reckon  without  your  hostess  at  Abbaye  de 
Bref.  What  is  it  to  reckon  without  your  hostess, 
Mr.  Quentin?" 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  exactly  that  expres- 
sion, Gartha." 

"Si  je  ne  me  trompe.  I  would  not  hesitate  to 
build  a  stairway  to  escape  with  you,"  said  Gartha, 
looking  up  frankly  into  Quentin 's  eyes  and  squeezing 
his  hand  with  her  grimy  one,  "and  I'm  sure  I  would 
be  more  than  willing  to  escape  with  his  Emnunce. 
You  know,  the  Archbishop.  So  far  I  think  you  two 
have  been  my  only  lovers." 

Gartha  said  these  words  with  a  very  lofty  air. 
She  added :  "  When  I  told  Valery,  he  laughed  till  he 
was  very  red.  Oh !  of  a  rougeur,  and  he  said  that  I 
could  not  expect  to  rival  Mamasha  at  my  age,  that  she 
was  much  younger  than  I  was  in  every  way,  and  that 
she  had  done  for  you  both.  What  had  she  done  for 
you  both?  " 

Quentin  did  not  appear  to  hear  this  very  pointed 
question.  He  was  gazing  at  the  far  distant  hills. 
They  were  now  at  the  little  door  in  the  wall.     Not 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  227 

wishing  to  reply  he  pretended  to  busy  himself  with 
the  hasp  of  the  gate. 

Gartha  went  to  a  crevice  in  the  wall  and  took  there- 
from a  key.  "You  must  lock  it  on  the  outside,"  she 
said.  Then  she  stood  uncertain,  just  within  the 
doorway.  "You  didn't  tell  me  where  the  Weasel  is, 
Mr.  Quentin." 

"The  weasel?  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  weasel. 
Where  do  you  keep  him?  " 

"The  Weasel,"  said  Gartha,  speaking  very  slowly, 
and  with  extreme  emphasis,  "  was  sitting  on  the  ter- 
race an  hour  ago.  EUe  est  caracterisee  de  la  maniere 
suivante.  She  has  a  grey  moustache  and  eyes  of  the 
ferret.  She  does  not  wear  garters,  and  her  stockings 
is  always  fallen  down.  She  has  a  tooth  fastened  on 
a  peg,  and  spits  when  she  talks,  she  makes  very  poor 
daubs,  Valery  says,  and  her  first  name  is  Mademoi- 
selle." 

Quentin  turned  his  back  again  and  looked  up  the 
hill. 

"  Les  petites  San  Gene  have  an  English  miss.  I 
wish  that  I,  too,  could  have  an  English  miss.  Ma- 
masha  says  that  Mademoiselles  are  the  meilleur 
marche,  but  why  should  I  have  the  education  of  the 
meilleur  marche  when  Valery  has  so  much  African 
money?  An  English  miss  will  cost  the  more,  but 
she  will  remain  an  English  miss." 

"I  should  think  it  extremely  likely,"  said  Quentin. 

"And  where  was  Mademoiselle?  " 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  in  as  steady  a  voice 
as  he  could  command,  "is  sitting  on  the  terrace 
with  the  Baroness.  She  has  been  very  busy  paint- 
ing." 

"Oh,  yes!    Do  I  not  know?     She  is  making  the 


228  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

dry  wasli.  Valery  says  that  it  is  the  only  wash  of 
which  she  knows  something." 

"I  don't  believe  she  will  miss  you  for  a  little 
while,"  said  Quentin.  "Come,  now.  Let  us  see 
who  will  be  at  the  top  of  the  hill  first." 

"Has  you  ever  seen  the  Weasel's  garters,  Mr. 
Quentin?  " 

"No,"  said  Quentin,  shortly. 

"If  you  watch  her  ankles  you  will  see  them.  They 
are  always  down.  Yalery  says  that  if  j^ou "  Quen- 
tin hurriedly  locked  the  door,  slipping  the  key  into 
his  pocket. 

"  Here  I  go,  catch  me  if  you  can, "  and  off  he  ran, 
putting  a  stop  to  he  knew  not  what  disclosures.  He 
was  followed  by  Gartha,  who,  bonnetless,  her  elf- 
locks  hanging  down  over  her  shoulders,  had,  at  his 
words,  started  on  a  quick  run  toward,  then  up,  the 
wooded  slope.  Once  fairly  on  the  way  Quentin  lagged 
behind.  When  Gartha  became  tired,  she  turned  to 
see  him,  lying,  apparently  exhausted,  beneath  one  of 
the  trees  which  grew  on  the  hillside.  When  the  child 
was  rested,  and  started  on  again,  her  big  companion 
raised  his  long  form  from  the  ground  and  strode 
slowly  after  her,  dragging  his  feet  as  if  this  steep 
climb  was  more  than  he  had  bargained  for. 

"You'll  get  there  before  me,  Gartha,"  he  called 
after  her. 

Gartha  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill.  She  was 
standing  still  at  the  root  of  a  tree,  her  manner  one  of 
secrecy  and  intense  excitement. 

"H-u-u-sh,"  she  whispered.  Then  she  beckoned 
violently,  at  the  same  time  sending  another  low 
"Hush!"  down  the  hill. 

Quentin,  to  humor  her,  advanced  with  a  great  show 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  229 

of  caution.  When  he  reached  the  place  where  she 
had  halted,  she,  from  her  eminence  on  a  protruding 
root,  laid  her  arms  upon  his  shoulders  and  whispered 
in  his  ear : 

"  There's  a  little  nest  of  squirrels  over  there  on  the 
other  side  of  the  glade — p'tit,  p'tit,  p'tit !  More  of 
interest  than  les  cochons  de  lait.  The  little  pigs 
of  milk,  you  know.  K  we  tiptoe,  we  may  see 
them." 

So  Quentin  tiptoed  as  in  duty  bound,  and  soon  the 
two  were  in  the  open  circle,  and  walking  as  noise- 
lessly as  possible  toward  the  further  slope  which 
stretched  downward  into  another  valley.  Gartha  held 
Quentin  by  the  hand. 

"  C'est  la-bas,  just  where  you  see  that  hole  enorme — 
enormous,"  corrected  Gartha,  halting  and  pointing 
to  the  base  of  an  old  tree  a  short  distance  down  the 
hill.  Then  again  she  began  to  creep  along  on  the 
tips  of  her  toes,  and  Quentin  followed  in  much  the 
same  manner.  As  they  came  out  from  behind  a  gi- 
gantic oak  upon  the  steep  brow  of  the  hill,  thej'  per- 
ceived, just  below  them,  not  the  squirrels,  little  or 
big,  but  two  men,  who  had  their  backs  toward  this 
pair  of  friends.  As  Quentin  came  within  earshot,  he 
heard  one  of  them  say : 

"That  last  clock-work  was  defective,  very!  The 
count  does  not  know  why,  but  he  is  not  at  all  satis- 
fied with  it.  He  has  not  heard  that  it  has  done  what 
he  expected." 

The  speaker  had  his  back  to  the  pair.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  long  black  coat  which  reached  to  his 
heels,  and  he  wore  a  black  felt  hat.  The  second 
man,  who  was  standing  looking  up  the  hill,  and  fac- 
ing Quentin,  was  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  workman. 


230  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

He  returned  a  quick  answer ;  his  manner  was  rough, 
and  the  tone  verged  on  impertinence : 

"  The  Monsieur  knows  that  I  must  get  paid  for  my 
work.  That  last  bit  took  me  all  of  three  days  to  put 
together.  If  Monsieur  le  Comte  does  not  know  how 
to  put  it  together,  that  is  not  my  fault.  If  Monsieur 
le  Comte  would  employ  me  regularly  at  the  chateau, 
I  could  have  done  the  matter  more  satisfactorily. 
With  all  Monsieur  le  Comte 's  money  I  should  have 
had  an  automobile  finished  long  ago.  It  seems  to 
one  who  understands  it  that  it  takes  a  long  time  for 
these  Messieurs  to  get  one  machine  finished." 

"Be  silent,"  said  the  priest,  raising  his  voice. 
"  Here  is  your  money.  You  will  have  to  be  more 
particular  about  the  next  bit,  or  you  will  get  no  more 
orders."  The  black  sleeve  was  outheld  and  some 
notes  passed  from  one  hand  to  the  other.  Gartha, 
who  was  still  watching  for  her  squirrels,  finger  on 
lip,  paying  little  attention  to  the  men,  stepped,  for 
all  her  intended  caution,  on  a  dry  stick.  It  cracked 
with  loud  warning.  The  black-coated  man  turned 
suddenly  and  disclosed  to  view  the  angry  face  of 
Father  Halle. 

"  Gartha ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a  violent  tone,  "  what 
are  you  spying  on  me  for?  " 

"There!  They've  gone  into  their  hole,  Mr.  Quen- 
tin.  Why  could  not  you  keep  still,  Robert  Halle? 
Valery  says  that  you  have  always  been  a  spoil-sport. 
Why  cannot  you  be  sage — good,  I  mean,  just  for 
once,  and  let  me  show  to  Mr.  Quentin  jnj  squirrels?  " 

"  You  are  teaching  the  child  to  become  as  deceitful 
as  the  rest  of  you, "  said  the  priest,  looking  upward 
at  Quentin,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  anger.  "And  so 
you,  too,  are  spying  on  me  again?  " 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  231 

"I  am  sure  that  if  you  recall  the  frankness  of 
Gartha's  speech  you  cannot  accuse  her  of  being  de- 
ceitful toward  you,"  said  Quentin  in  answer,  "and 
as  for  me,  no  one  was  further  from  my  thoughts. 
Why  you  should  be  ashamed  of  being  found  in  such 
close  communication  with  such  a  very  disreputable 
looking  gentleman,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine.  His 
looks  show  him  to  be  as  crafty  as  you  are  yourself. 
And  the  way  in  which  he  is  stuffing  your  latest  bribe 
into  his  pocket  proves  plainly  that  you  have  some- 
thing to  hide,  both  of  you."  Quentin  spoke  these 
words  sharply.  He  spoke  at  a  venture.  He  had  no 
positive  knowledge  or  even  suspicion  that  anything 
was  wrong  with  regard  to  Halle's  meeting  with  the 
mechanic,  who,  in  fact,  had  an  honest  enough  face, 
but  he  had  grown  tired  of  the  insolence  of  this  priest. 
The  sudden  extreme  pallor  that  overspread  Halle's 
face  proved  that  the  shot  had  told.  He  stood  there 
irresolute,  looking  first  at  Quentin  and  then  at  the 
workman. 

"  Do  you  understand  what  this  gentleman  is  say- 
ing?" he  asked.  "He  accuses  me  of  giving  you 
a  bribe,  and  you  of  taking  one.  It  is  not  within 
my  priestly  office  to  chastise  him,  but  I  will  pay 
you  twice  as  large  a  sum  to-morrow  as  I  have  just 
handed  you  if  you  will  pitch  him  down  the  hill 
yonder." 

The  workman,  a  brawny  fellow,  short  and  thick- 
set, glanced  from  Quentin  to  the  priest  in  astonish- 
ment. He  could  understand  nothing  of  the  antag- 
onism displayed  on  both  sides. 

Quentin  burst  into  a  laugh.  There  was  a  sneer  in 
it  which  he  made  as  pronounced  as  possible.  "  Let 
him  try  it.     Let  him  try  it,"  he  said.     "How  many 


232  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

human  beings  your  bribes  have  injured,  Mr.  Halle, 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  conjecture;  but  if  you  imagine  that 
I  am  to  be  the  next  victim,  you  have  reckoned  without 
your  host." 

At  these  random  words,  Halle,  to  Quentin's  aston- 
ishment, turned  on  him  fairly  beside  himself  with 
fury.  He  trembled  in  every  limb.  "  Seize  him ! "  he 
shouted.  "  Seize  him !  I  say.  This  liar,  this  per- 
jurer, this  defamer  of  men  a  thousand  times  more 
honest  than  himself." 

Quentin  burst  into  an  enraging  laugh.  He  was, 
suddenly,  so  incensed  against  the  priest  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  he  restrained  himself. 

"  So  the  cap  fits ! "  he  said.  "  It  is  strange  with 
what  alacrity  you  put  it  on,  Mr.  Halle."  The  work- 
man stood  wavering. 

"  Come  on ! "  said  Quentin,  in  a  voice  in  which  he 
strove  in  vain  to  preserve  a  quiet  tone.  "  Come  on ! 
They  won't  recognize  you  when  I  have  finished  with 
you,  and  then  I  will  send  this  precious  son  of  the 
church  to  bear  you  company." 

"Do  you  hear  him,  Guerin?  Do  you  hear  him?  " 
screamed  the  priest,  foaming  at  the  mouth  in  his 
rage.  "Will  you  allow  a  priest  of  the  church  to 
stand  here  and  take  the  insults  of  this  foreigner? 
You  that  I  saw  once  fell  an  ox,  and  with  one  blow ! 
What  are  you  afraid  of?  At  him !  At  the  heretic ! 
No  matter  what  happens,  I  will  absolve  you." 

Quentin  leaned  against  a  tree.  "  So  you  will  ab- 
solve even  the  crime  of  murder,  should  it  go  so  far," 
he  said. 

"  Why  don't  you  give  him  the  coup  yourself,  Eob- 
ert  Halle?"  called  Gartha.  "There  are  two  of  you. 
1  have  heard  His  Grace  to  say  that  you  belong  to  our 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  233 

church  no  longer.  You  may  strike,  now  that  you 
are  not  more  a  priest  in  holy  orders." 

Halle  took  a  step  forward  toward  the  child,  but 
Queutin  fearing  what  he  might  be  tempted  to  do  in 
his  unreasoning  rage,  thrust  Gartha  behind  the  tree. 

"Back,  back!"  he  said  threateningly  to  Halle. 
"  Men  do  not  war  on  little  children,  even  if  they  be 
dishonored  priests." 

By  this  time  Halle's  subordinate,  seeing  some  sort 
of  show  of  courage  on  the  part  of  the  priest,  had 
thrown  his  coat  to  the  ground,  and  was  advancing 
with  threatening  eye,  upward  over  the  few  feet  of 
ground  which  separated  himself  and  Quentin. 

"  Come  on ! "  called  Quentin,  bristling  for  a  fight. 
Not  knowing  what  hidden  strength  the  man  might 
possess,  "Eunback,"  he  called  to  Gartha,  "and  stand 
on  the  further  edge  of  the  glade,  and  when  they  have 
killed  me  between  them,  run  down  and  tell  them  at 
the  Abbey.  Here!  wait  a  minute.  You  will  need  the 
key."  He  tossed  it  to  her,  laughingly,  and  Gartha, 
who  had  been  growing  round-eyed  and  pale,  joined 
him  in  his  laugh. 

"Kobert  Halle,"  called  Gartha,  as  she  backed 
slowly  across  the  green  circle,  "  if  you  know  what 
is  good  for  you,  run !  Bun,  as  if  His  Grace  was  after 
you!" 

Newly  stung  by  this  taunt,  Halle  made  a  quick 
dart  toward  Queutin  and  tried  to  grapple  with  him. 
Quentin  allowed  him  to  come  close,  and  then  with 
a  grip  that  is  well  known  to  wrestlers  he  seized  upon 
the  priest,  and  with  a  dexterous  movement  swung  the 
lank  figure  over  his  head.  The  priest  fell  heavily  to 
the  ground  and  lay  there  quite  still.  Guerin  seeing 
his  chief  fallen,  lying  quite  motionless,  stole  sneak- 


234  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

ingly  to  the  place  where  his  coat  was  lying,  picked  it 
up  and  ran  quickly  down  the  slope.  Gartha  began 
to  walk  away  without  even  so  much  as  a  look  at  her 
prostrate  foe. 

"You've  killed  Robert  Halle,"  she  called  over  her 
shoulder  to  Quentin.     "  Je  m'en  bats  I'oeil." 

"He  is  not  killed,"  said  Quentin,  and  remembering 
the  look  that  had  come  over  Halle's  face  but  a  mo- 
ment since  at  some  random  words  of  his,  he  added : 
"  Before  he  dies,  he  will  have  the  opportunity  to  think 
of  those  whom  he  has  sent  before  him." 

The  eyelids  of  the  priest  trembled.  He  straight- 
ened his  body,  then  sat  up.  He  felt  of  one  arm,  then 
of  the  other,  then  of  each  leg,  his  knees,  his  ankles. 

"Espece  de  type!"  ejaculated  Gartha,  looking 
scornfully  at  the  priest. 

"Gartha! 

"  Marie  Monrouge  says  it !  She  says  all— tout  le 
monde  says  it  in  the  quartier,"  and  then,  looking 
again  at  the  priest,  "  espece  de  sale  Fran^ais !  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind  that  you  can  say  harms  the 
priest,"  said  Quentin  dryly. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  would  say  that  it  does  me  the 
harm.  Au  contraire.  Monsieur  Quentin,  it  does  me 
much  of  the  good." 

"  Very  well,  come  away  !  " 

"There  is  nothing  broken,"  said  Quentin.  "I  had 
no  intention  of  killing  you,  but  be  careful,  please, 
how  you  attack  me  in  the  future.  I  shall  not  let  you 
off  so  easily  the  next  time.     Come,  Gartha." 

The  priest  raised  himself  and  stood  upright.  He 
turned  toward  Quentin.  His  eyes  glared.  They 
shone  like  balls  of  fire.  He  stretched  forth  his  hand 
toward  the  two,  and  then  began  to  pour  from  his  lips 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  235 

a  string  of  curses "  more  frightful  than  any  to  whicli 
Quentin  had  ever  listened. 

"  Cease ! "  Quentin  shouted !  "  You  shall  not  utter 
such  vile  words  before  this  child.  Were  your  anath- 
ema delivered  from  the  high  altar  it  would  not  affect 
me,  for  I  should  still  consider  its  source,  but  this 
child  is  of  the  church  which  you  pollute,  and  I  will 
not  allow  you  to  foul  her  ears  with  language  which  is 
fit  only  for  the  slums.  If  you  have  forgotten  what  is 
due  to  your  once  upright  manhood,  you  shall  remem- 
ber that  which  is  due  to  the  daughter  of  the  house 
where  you  have  been  for  manj^  years  a  pensioner." 

"Yes,"  said  Gartha,  nodding  her  head  commend- 
ingly,  and  speaking  very  fast,  with  much  appearance 
of  consciousness,  "  and  I  will  tell  Alixe  that  you  raved 
and  swored  and  hurled  curses  and  said  sacre,  and 
lots  of  other  bad  words.  It  mortifies  me  very  much, 
Robert  Halle,  to  see  you  very  rude  before  the  gentle- 
man that  I  am  to  marry  some  day." 

"  Little  fool ! "  snarled  the  priest.  "  So  he  flatters 
you  that  way,  does  he?  " 

"And  if  you  are  an  unfrocked  priest,"  said  Gartha, 
holding  tightly  to  Quentin's  hand  and  backing  off  the 
while  as  she  watched  Halle  warily,  "  why  do  you  not 
take  off  that  long  '  black  '  woman's  costume  and  show 
your  legs  like  other  of  the  men?  That  coat  covers  up 
the  behind  part  of  you,  but  in  front  you  are  still  play- 
ing priest."  After  Gartha  had  made  the  sarcastic  in- 
quiry and  appended  statement,  she  ran,  pulling  Quen- 
tin after  her.  "  Now, "  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  the 
Abbey  to  tell  Alixe." 

At  the  name  of  Alixe,  repeated  in  a  cooler  moment, 
Halle  shivered,  turned  away,  and  descended  the  hill, 
following  the  path  which  the  mechanic  had  taken. 


236  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Quentin  and  Gartba  watched  him  for  a  moment,  then 
crossed  the  glade  and  skirted  the  slope  which  led  to- 
ward the  Abbey. 

"Now,  Gartha,"  said  Quentin,  "don't  say  anything 
about  all  this.  It  will  only  annoy  3^ our  aunt,  and  she 
seems  to  have  enough  to  trouble  her  just  now.  If  you 
can  prevent  her  having  any  more,  I  think  you  will." 

"  Well,"  returned  Gartha,  "I  go  to  think  over  that. 
If  Alixe  does  not  come  between  me  and  you " 

"You  and  me." 

" — You  and  me,"  repeated  Gartha  obediently.  "I 
cannot  see  why  you  want  me  to  put  you  at  the  first, 
I  may —  You  were  my  discovery.  Now  was  you 
not " 

"Were  you  not?" 

"Were  you  not,  Mr.  Quentin?" 

"Or  were  you  mine,  which?  " 

"  And  if  Bruno  wants  to  pay  a  man  some  money, 
why  must  Robert  Halle  meet  him,  that  ouvrier,  over 
there  in  that  lonely  place,  to  pay  him?  And  why  did 
he  think  we  were  spying  upon  him?  Seigneur  Dieu ! 
I  was  never  so  disappointed.     Espece  de  type ! " 

"Don't  say  that,  Gartha." 

"  Marie  Monrouge  says  it  and  la  Mere  Monrouge 
also.  Do  you  know  la  Mere  Monrouge,  Mr.  Quentin, 
and  le  Pere  Monrouge?  He  was  living  in  an  atelier 
in  the  Quartier  Latin  when  he  was  young.  The  Mere 
Monrouge,  she  gives  me  the  gateaux." 

As  Gartha  chattered,  her  talk  half  heard  by  Quen- 
tin and  receiving  random  answers,  his  thoughts  were 
much  like  those  expressed  so  plainly  by  the  child 
herself.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  secrecy 
preserved  by  Halle  and  his  master — for  that  St.  Au- 
bin  was   so,    was  quite    evident  to   him  now.      As 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  237 

Quentin  walked  he  pondered.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
profound  mystery  pertaining  to  the  putting  together 
of  all  their  machinery.  In  the  first  place  they  called 
them  chemicals,  the  materials  with  which  they 
worked,  and  their  conversation  was  constantly  of  auto- 
mobiles. If  St.  Aubin  was  engaged  in  the  invention 
of  an  automobile,  why  should  he  be  so  mysterious 
about  receiving  the  various  parts  of  the  apparatus? 
Why  should  he  pay  his  workman  in  this  underhand 
manner?  Why  should  not  the  different  bits  of  motive 
power  come  to  the  chateau  openly?  They  might  be 
enclosed  in  boxes  which  could  be  opened  in  St.  Au- 
bin's  own  chambers,  the  east  rooms  of  the  chalet. 
And  if  a  workman  had  completed  a  portion  of  the  ma- 
chinery, why  should  he  not  be  paid  by  a  draft  or  note 
at  the  chateau  itself?  All  this  appearance  of  secrecy 
had  set  Quentin  thinking  deeply,  and  caused  him  to 
feel  that  there  must  be  some  occult  knowledge  which 
St.  Aubin  was  determined  should  be  kept  from  all  but 
his  tool,  the  priest.  He  reasoned  and  argued  for  and 
against  in  his  mind,  and  finally  found  that  the  only 
conclusion  on  which  he  could  decide  definitely  was 
that  the  whole  thing  was  a  pretence  on  St.  Aubin's 
part.  He  was  simply  wasting  his  wife's  fortune  in 
riotous  living  in  Paris,  and  his  long  absences  meant 
that,  no  more,  no  less.  So  long  as  he  could  pretend 
to  be  at  work  on  some  wonderful  invention,  the 
money,  and  plenty  of  it,  would  be  forthcoming;  but 
should  Alixe  discover  that  which  Quentin  felt  certain 
must  be  the  fact,  she  would  cease  the  lavish  and  gen- 
erous expenditure  which  was,  he  had  heard,  begin- 
ning to  tell  upon  her  income. 

As  Quentin  came  to  this  conclusion,  he  had  reached 
the  road  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.     Gartha  handed 


238  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

him  the  key,  for  they  were  now  standing  before  the 
little  door  in  the  wall. 

"  There  is  just  one  thing  I  wish  to  ask  you,  Mr. 
Quentin,  before  we  part,"  said  Gartha,  looking  up 
from  her  lowly  height.  He,  in  turn,  looked  down 
inquiringly.  "Would  jon  mind  telling  me  your 
name,  3' our  first  name?  " 

"Telling  you  my  first  name?  No,  certainly  not. 
It's  John." 

Gartha's  face  fell.  "Oh!"  she  said,  "John!" 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  or  as  long  as  Gartha 
would  allow  it  to  remain  unbroken.  Quentin  un- 
locked the  door  in  the  wall  and  entered,  Gartha  fol- 
lowing. He  then  closed  and  locked  the  door,  giving 
the  key  to  the  child,  and  pushed  the  bolt  in  place, 
thus  doubly  securing  this  way  of  ingress;  and  then 
Quentin,  who  had  been  conscious  of  a  discontented 
murmur,  heard  her  say:  "Why  can  you  not?  Do 
you  not  hear  me,  Mr.  Quentin?     Why  can  you  not?  " 

"Why  can't  I  what,  Gartha?  " 

"  Ah,  nom  de  Dieu !  It  is  to  repeat  again !  Why, 
be  rechristened,  I  am  asking  you.  You  might  let  my 
Emnunce  do  it.  He  did  it  to  the  Countess  Blan- 
dina's  twins."  Gartha  spoke  as  if  she  were  advising 
vaccination.  "  I  wish — I  wish,  Mr.  Quentin,  it  was 
another  name  than  John.  How  would  you  like  Al- 
phonse,  or  Anatole?  I  once  heard  Mamasha  say 
there  was  not  much  sentiment  about  the  name  of 
John." 

"  She  is  right ! "  assented  Quentin  promptly. 
"There  isn't." 

"  It  was  once  when  she  had  a  letter  from  England, 
a  little  while  before  you  came.  Mamasha  read  that 
letter,  and  she  folded  it,  and  began  to  put  it  in  her 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  239 

dress  up  liere,  so ;  and  then  slie  tliouglit  better  things 
of  that,  and  she  opened  her  little  black  bag,  and  put 
it  in  the  bag.  Mamasha  looked  sad — I  was  almost 
unhappy  for  her.     She  looked  away ;  over  there." 

"To  the  hills?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"  No,  no ;  much,  much  further,  as  if  she  was  look- 
ing the  whole  globe  round ;  and  then  she  sighed,  like 
this."  Gartha  gave  a  heart-rending  sigh.  "And  she 
said,  Mamasha  did :  '  Tliere  is  not  much  sentiment 
about  the  name  of  John. '  " 

By  this  time  Gartha  had  replaced  the  key  in  the 
crevice  in  the  wall,  and  was  skipping  along  by  Quen- 
tin, holding  his  hand  fast  in  hers. 

"You  might  be  named  Anastasius,  after  His  Grace; 
or  Patrick  Michael,  after  my  Grandfather  Valery." 
The  two  friends  ascended  the  stone  steps  at  the  end 
of  the  terrace  and  passed  under  the  chalet  windows. 
Had  one  been  looking  out  from  the  chalet  or  the  cha- 
teau they  might  have  seen  this  strange  pair  stop  un- 
derneath the  great  tree,  and,  had  they  watched  closely-, 
they  would  have  seen  something  pass  from  the  hand 
of  Quentin  to  that  of  his  little  charge. 

"There!  That's  settled,"  said  Gartha,  looking 
round  to  see  who  might  be  listening.  "  The  Weasel's 
gone,  Mr.  Quentin,"  she  added,  as  if  she  were  ex- 
plaining the  habits  of  a  denizen  of  a  zoological  garden. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  gate.  Pierre  Monrouge 
opened  it  at  the  summons,  and  Madame  entered  with 
Lord  Eldon.  Madame  looked  happy ;  one  might  say, 
with  more  truth,  successful.  Lord  Eldon's  face  was 
flushed  more  than  usual,  his  eyes  were  shining. 

"Or  you  might  be  named  Yalerj-,  after  my  father," 
said  Gartha,  resuming  her  first  subject  rather  ab- 
ruptly.    She  held  Queutin's  hands  with  both  of  hers, 


240  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

and  jumped  up  and  down.  "Hilary  Valery,  that 
would  be  a  lovely  name  for  you." 

"Or  Alibone  Crackibone,"  supplemented  Madame, 
who  had  come  up  to  them  just  in  time.  "  Have  you 
had  a  pleasant  afternoon,  my  friend? "  She  came 
close  to  Quentin,  pushing  Gartha  ever  so  slightly 
aside  as  she  did  so,  and  looked  up  at  him  from 
under  the  fall  of  dentelle  de  sole,  her  eyes  flashing 
through  the  snaky  embroidery  depicted  upon  the  veil. 

"I  have  missed  you,"  said  Quentin,  looking  down 
at  her,  then  turning  to  gaze  with  a  jealous  stare  after 
Lord  Eldon's  back. 

"  You  dear ! "  said  Madame.  As  a  far  door  closed 
upon  the  rejuvenated  Lord  Eldon,  she  took  Quentin's 
hand  affectionately  in  hers.  "  You  dear ! "  she  re- 
peated. Gartha  walked  away,  hunching  up  her  shoul- 
ders one  after  the  other  and  shaking  her  skirts  from 
side  to  side  with  great  evidence  of  anger  and  con- 
sciousness. 


XXV. 

Alixe  sat  at  her  farther  window,  gazing  abroad  on 
the  distant  view.  Her  hands  were  lying  listlessly  in 
her  lap,  as  she  looked  beyond  the  abbey  wall  and 
across  the  meadows  where  the  sunny  river  tinkled 
through  the  valley,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  everlast- 
ing hills.  Her  head  was  listlessly  down-drooped,  her 
lashes  were  wet.     There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"I  cannot  see  any  one,"  called  Alixe. 

"What,  not  me?  Not  your  own  Gartha?  Tu  me 
trompes,  Alixe.  Oh,  dearest,  mon  ame,  petit  chou ! 
Ouvrez-moi  ta  porte.  I  have  something — oh !  but  of 
importance  of  the  greatest.  It  is  a  secret  just  yet 
between  all  the  two  of  us — me  and  you."  As  Gartha 
said  these  words,  she  pounded  with  her  little  fist  on 
the  door  of  the  Abbess's  room. 

Alixe  arose  at  once.  She  brushed  her  handker- 
chief across  her  eyes,  went  to  the  door,  and  opened 
it.  Gartha  was  inside  in  a  moment,  and  Alixe  closed 
the  iron  barrier  with  a  necessary  clang,  and  put  up 
the  lieavy  worn  chain. 

"  Dear  little  Gartha !  Dear  little  girl !  I  have  been 
longing  to  see  you.  Where  have  you  been  that  you 
did  not  come  to  see  Alixe?  "  She  stooped  and  placed 
her  arms  around  the  bony  little  shoulders.  They 
seemed  to  shrink  to  nothing  at  her  touch.  She  kissed 
the  child,  and  rising,  led  her  to  the  open  window. 
"  Where  have  you  been?  "  she  repeated,  as  she  seated 
herself  and  took  Gartha  up  on  her  lap. 
16 


242  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  I  have  been  taking  a  promenade  a  deux  up  in  the 
liills,  with  my  latest  and  truly  lover,  Alixe,"  said 
Gartha  seriously,  turning  and  looking  her  straight  in 
the  eyes — of  the  pair,  one  could  not  have  told  whose 
gaze  was  the  most  straightforward  and  childlike.  "  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  something.  Will  you? " 
And  then,  without  waiting  for  reply  and  talking  very 
fast,  fingering  the  laces  about  Alixe 's  shoulders  the 
while,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  never  to  come  be- 
tween me  and  John?  " 

"John?  John  who?  "  asked  Alixe,  a  smile  flooding 
her  face  at  the  airs  of  this  comical  child. 

"Quentin,  John  Quentin.  Did  you  not  know  that 
was  his  nom  de  bapteme?  What  is  the  matter? 
Have  I  hurt  you,  Alixe?  That  would  touch  me  with 
compunction.  How  you  started!  We  are  fiances, 
me  and  John  Quentin.  My  first  love  was  my  Em- 
nunce,  but  Yalery  has — has — deconcerte  me  much. 
He  says  that  his  bride  is  the  church — my  Emnunce,  I 
mean.  Do  you  think  the  next  best  one  is  John 
Quentin?  How  you  jump,  Alixe !  What  is  the  mat- 
ter? Are  there  pins  in  my  frock?  They  will  give 
one  almost  a  blessure  mortelle.  Marie  Monrouge 
said  once  there  was  une  grande  Princesse,  and  there 
was  a  pin  in  her  little  girl's  dress,  and  it  had  the 
poison  upon  it,  and  it  gave  her  a  coup  and  killed  her. " 

"  There  are  other  stings  than  pins,  Gartha.  What 
do  you  say  Mr.  Quentin's  name  is?  " 

"John." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"He  did.  I  asked  him.  Of  course  I  could  not 
marry  with  a  man  if  I  did  not  know  his  name.  Sup- 
pose we  were  at  the  wedding,  you  and  John  Quentin, 
and  me  and  Valery  and  the  Archbishop,  and  I  should 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  243 

begin  to  saj',  *I,  Gartha  Yalery,  take  you' — and  then 
I  sliould  have  to  give  him  an  oeillade,  quick,  like 
this,  and  saj^  in  a  whisper,  'What  did  you  say  your 
name  is,  young  man?  '  That  would  be  of  an  awkward- 
ness most  extreme." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  very  trying,"  assented  Alixe. 
"  Well,  and  what  more?  " 

"Well,  then,  after  he  told  me,  my  face  fell." 

"Did  it?"  said  Alixe,  laughing.  "How  do  you 
know  that?  " 

"  Faces  always  fall  in  the  stories  Mademoiselle  reads 
to  me ;  and  I  said,  'I  should  like  you  to  be — re — bapt' 
— what  shall  I  say,  Alixe?  " 

" Kechristened,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

"Yes,  rechristened,  after  his  Emnunce,  Anasta- 
sius." 

"His  Grace,  you  mean." 

"His  Grace  and  my  Emnunce,"  laughed  Gartha. 
"  As  I  was  coming  up  the  stairs,  Alixe,  I  thought  of 
something  else.  You  see,  we  might  have  children. 
I  should  prefer  three  girls  and  three  boys.  Then 
they  could  be  named  Emnunce,  Anastasius,  and 
Hilary ;  and  the  girls  could  be  named  Alixe,  Gartha, 
and  Allaire,  after  my  little  mamma." 

"You  must  not  talk  so  freely,  Gartha.  It  is  not 
customary.  I  hope  you  never  will  to  Mr.  Queutin  or 
any  one  else."  Alixe  looked  grave.  "You  must 
never,  never  do  it." 

"I  have  not  had  the  time, "answered  Gartha.  "I 
have  only  been  fiancee  about  seven  minutes.  I  do 
not  really  know  whether  John  Quentin  re— relizes  it 
yet."  Here  Gartha  changed  her  position  to  one  that 
was  most  uncomfortable,  her  elbow  resting  on  one 
knee,  which  was  drawn  up  to  meet  it,  her  thumb  hold- 


244  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

ing  up  her  cliin,  her  forefinger  resting  prominently 
on  her  little  brown  cheek.  A  very  large  ring,  which 
held  a  finely  cut  topaz,  wobbled  about  on  the  thin 
brown  member.  At  last  she  sighed  in  despairing 
tones : 

"You  don't  seem  to  notice  anything,  Alixe." 

"Notice  what?" 

"Oh!  oh!  Do  turn  your  head  this  way.  Don't 
look  off  the  other  side  of  the  world.  My  ring !  My 
ring !    You  do  not  see  it  at  all." 

"Your  ring?  Oh,  yes;  I  do  see  it  now.  What  a 
very  beautiful  stone  that  is,  Gartha.  Be  very  careful 
of  it.  That  is  a  very  handsome  ornament ;  you  might 
lose  it." 

"John  Quentin  did  not  surround  me  with  con — 
condishuns,"  said  Gartha  proudly.  "When  I  asked 
him  for  a  gage  d' amour,  he  said  this  was  the  only 
one  he  had,  and  it  belonged  to  an  aunt  who  was  dead. 
Would  she  be  my  aunt  too,  Alixe,  when  we  are  mar- 
ried with  each  other?  He  never  said  another  thing, 
or  spoke  of  my  losing  it.  He  just  trusted  me,  John 
Quentin  did.  And  he  told  me  another  time  of  a  sister 
of  his  who  died.  He  said  she  was  very  beautiful,  and 
that  he  loved  her  better  than  anything  in  the  world ; 
and  when  I  asked  him  if  she  was  more  beautiful  than 
you,  he  said,  'No.'  How  hot  your  face  is,  Alixe. 
Am  I  making  you  too  warm?  Shall  I  get  down, 
Alixe?  No?  Then  let  me  lay  my  head  down  on  you, 
so.  I  am  tired.  We  took  a  long  prom — walk  up 
in  the  hills,  me  and  John  Quentin.  We  went  to  look 
for  those  weeny  squirrels.  We  went  into  the  glade 
and  a  most  sickening  sight  we  saw.  Quelque-chose 
abominable ! " 

"What  did  you  see?" 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  245 

"Instead  of  pretty  squirrels,  all  of  innocence, 
all  of  beauty,  we  saw  a  very  much  more  hateful 
thing,  and  that  was  Robert  Halle.  I  do  hate  him 
dans  les  derniers  replis  du  coeur." 

"  Gartha,  Gartha !  Do  not  say  such  things.  Rob- 
ert Halle  here  again!  Then  your  Uncle  Bruno  must 
be  here  too." 

"For  me,  I  hope  that  does  not  follow,"  returned 
Gartha,  frankly.  "That  is  what  Valery  ermarked 
when  I  said  that  one  da  v.     You  should  have  saw " 

"Seen." 

"  Seen  John  Quentin  throw  Robert  Halle  over  his 
head." 

"Throw  Robert  Halle  over  his  head !  Oh,  Gartha, 
what  can  you  mean ! "  Alixe  started  to  rise.  "Why 
should  he " 

"I  mean  that,"  said  Gartha.  "It  was  a  fine  sight. 
Attendez !  Let  me  get  down  and  show  you. "  Gartha 
struggled  to  the  floor.  "You  see  we  were  looking 
for  squirrels.  I  was  here  and  John  Quentin  was 
there,  where  the  prie-dieu  stands.  I  beckoned  him 
so,  and  said  'Hush,'  and  he  came  tip-toeing  along 
just  this  way,"  Gartha  suited  her  actions  to  her 
words,  "  and  when  we  got  to  the  old  oak,  who  should 
we  see  instead  of  the  squirrels  but  Robert  Halle. 
He  was  handing  some  money  to  an  ouvrier.  Ah,  bah ! 
that  French !  to  a  working  homme — man — and  when  he 
saw  us  he  turned  with  an  angry  glance  with  much  of 
the  acces  de  colore,  and  said,  '  What  are  you  spying 
on  me  for,  Gartha?  '  That  made  me  much  ashamed, 
Alixe.  It  was  not  very  nice  to  a  fiancee,  now  was  it, 
Alixe?  " 

"No,"  assented  Alixe,  who,  accustomed  as  she  was 
to  Gartha' s  quaint  mixing  of  the  languages,  and  her 


246  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

mistakes  between  the  two  grammars,  always  found 
the  child's  conversation  freshly  amusing. 

"  Ecoutez !  It  is  too  long  to  tell,  but  the  two  men 
came  up  the  hill  to  fight  John  Quentin,  at  least  Rob- 
ert Halle  came,  and  the  ouvrier  started  away,  and 
when  Robert  Halle  arroached  John  Quentin,  he 
took  him  in  his  arms  just  as  a  mother  takes  its  babe, 
and  throwed  him  over  his  head." 

"  Oh !  Oh !  "  Alixe  started  up,  concern  written  in 
her  face.  "It  could  not  be  as  a  mother  takes  her 
babe,  Gartha.    Did  Mr.  Quentin  hurt  Father  Halle?  " 

"J'espere,"  said  Gartha  in  a  cheerful  tone.  "He 
did  get  up,  but  possibly  some  bones  are  broken, 
though  John  Quentin  said  not.  He  walked  down  the 
hill,  and  then  I  taunted  him.  Then  we  walked  off 
down  our  side  of  the  hill,  my  little  hand  in  John 
Quentin's,  and  Robert  Halle  went  on  his  way,  after 
the  ouvrier." 

"  Oh,  Gartha,  how  could  you  taunt  him,  poor  man ! 
What  had  he  done  to  this — this  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

"I  made  some  slight  ermark  about  his  being  an 
unfrocked  priest,  and  still  wearing  a  long,  black 
dress,  and  he  went  on  his  path  muttering.  I  should 
not  wonder  if  he  had  murder  in  his  heart.  May  I 
play  with  your  bracelet,  Alixe? "  Gartha  climbed 
into  the  lap  of  her  devoted  Alixe.  "Why  do  you 
wear  so  broad  a  bracelet?  There !  I  have  unclasped 
it.  Oh!  Oh!  Why!  How  did  you  get  that  blue 
mark  round  your  wrist?  How  ugly  it  looks,  Alixe! 
Is  that  the  clasp  of  the  Mother  Abbess  who  walks 
at  night  and  takes  your  wrist  in  her  hand,  and  says — " 
Gartha  lowered  her  voice  sepulchrally  and  looked 
over  her  shoulder  with  frightened  eyes,  " '  Come — with 
—me '  " 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  247 

"Who  tells  you  those  tales,  Gartha?  I  will  not 
have  it.     I  have  said  so  many  a  time." 

"  Only  old  Mere  Monrouge  down  at  the  mill.  You 
cannot  turn  her  out.  Valery  says  she  is  a  fixture, 
fixee.  He  says  she  remains  avec  une  fixite  remar- 
quable !  He  says  she  has  not  change  her  po — posi- 
tion for  three  hundred  years."  Gartha  looked  down 
on  the  purple  mark  again.  She  pressed  her  lips  to 
the  wrist  of  Alixe.  "Dear  Alixe,"  she  said,  "tell  me 
how  you  got  it,  that  mark.  It  appears  as  if  some  one 
pinched  you." 

"It  was  one  of  Uncle  Bruno's  experiments,"  said 
Alixe,  then  laughed  a  sad  little  laugh  at  her  own 
conceit. 

"Did  he  blow  you  up  again,  Alixe?  "  asked  Gartha 
breathlessly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Alixe,  sadly  amused  at  this  play 
upon  words,  and  the  situation. 

"And  it  was  sus — sue — you  know  what  I  mean,  un 
succes.'' 

"No,  dear,  I  do  not  think  it  was,  this  time.  I 
think  I  have  finished  now— helping  Uncle  Bruno  with 
his  experiments." 

"  Ah,  bah !  How  I  hate  my  Uncle  Bruno !  I  never 
could  understan',  Alixe,  how  you  feU  so  dreadful  in 
love  of  him  to  marry  him.  Now,  John  Quentin  is  a 
fine  man  in  every  respec',  but  you  are  too  late  for 
him,  Alixe.  Are  you  coming  down  to-night?  Oh, 
do,  dearest  Alixe.  It  is  so  tiresome  with  only  Ma- 
masha  and  Mamasha's  latest.  John  Quentin  has  to 
turn  his  attention  to  the  Weasel,  and  she  rewards  him 
by  spitting  in  his  face." 

"Gartha!  Gartha!  You  must  not  say  such  dread- 
ful things!    They  are  really  too  bad." 


248  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"So  Mademoiselle  ermarked  when  I  ermonstrated 
with  her,  but  I  said,  'I  am  only  telling  you  for  your 
own  good.'  "  Gartha's  tone  and  accent  were  so  ex- 
actly like  Mademoiselle's  own,  when  she  corrected 
the  child,  that  Alixe  laughed  in  spite  of  her  wish  not 
to  encourage  Gartha. 

"Now,  I  must  hurry,  il  faut  que  je  parte!  John 
Quentin  will  wonder  what  detains  me.  I  shall  wear 
the  pink-ruffled  if  Marie  Monrouge  has  pressed  it.  If 
not,  then  the  blue  and  white  that  Lord  Eldon  called 
'  a  dainty  little  robe. '  " 

When  Gartha  was  gone,  Alixe  walked  slowly  about 
the  room.  She  had  decided,  for  Gartha's  sake,  to 
change  her  gown  and  appear  at  dinner.  She  rang 
the  bell  for  Nanette,  and  then  she  went  across  the 
room  to  her  wardrobe.  In  crossing  the  great  space 
her  trailing  robe  rolled  some  article  along  with  it. 
It  made  a  noise  upon  the  tiled  floor.  Alixe  ceased 
her  walk  and  stooped  down.  Just  upon  the  edge  of 
the  rug,  caught  among  the  fringe,  to  which  it  had 
been  drawn  by  her  skirt,  lay  the  topaz  ring  which 
Gartha  had  dropped. 


XXVI. 

The  picnic  passed  off  more  quietly  than  most  pic- 
nics do.  Usually  there  is  some  one  person  who  en- 
joys the  dissipation  of  a  picnic  in  the  woods,  but 
Quentin  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  attempt  to 
make  this  one  a  success  resulted  in  a  most  dismal 
failure,  and  but  for  the  apparent  enjoyment  of  Gartha, 
it  seemed  as  if  each  one  regretted  his  quiet,  shady 
seat  or  room  at  the  Abbey. 

Madame  sat  most  of  the  day  under  a  tree  in  desul- 
tory conversation  with  Lord  Eldon,  giving  Quentin 
an  occasional  glance,  as  if  to  say,  "You  see  what 
you  have  forced  me  to."  His  feeliugs  had  undergone 
a  change  since  he  had  rung  the  Abbey  bell,  now 
nearly  two  weeks  ago,  and  he  was  quite  certain  that 
he  should  never  again  feel  toward  her  as  he  had  be- 
fore the  voluntary  revelations  of  Valery  had  left  so 
unpleasant  an  impression  upon  his  mind.  He  did 
not  avoid  her,  that  he  could  not  do,  as  she  was  his 
hostess,  but  he  was  seeing  less  of  her  during  these 
days,  which  fact,  so  contradictory  is  human  nature, 
made  him  feel  somewhat  gloomy.  It  is  unpleasant 
to  lose  one's  faith  in  a  pleasant  friend,  one  who  has 
been  perhaps  somewhat  nearer  than  a  casual  friend. 
This  partial  estrangement  seemed  to  cause  corre- 
sponding joy  in  the  breast  of  Lord  Eldon. 

On  the  whole  Quentin  found  himself  not  saddened 
by  his  approaching  farewell  to  tlie  Abbey.  He  wan- 
dered along  by  the  side  of  the  brook,  his  rod  over  his 


250  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

shoulder,  liis  head   bent  upon  his  breast,  keeping 
pace  as  nearly  as  possible  with  the  Kastaquouere. 

"Shouldn't  wonder  in  the  least  if  she'd  nail  him 
yet,"  said  Yalery,  as  he  stepped  into  the  brook,  rod 
in  hand.  ''If  there's  one  thing  that  Mamasha  values 
more  than  eternal  glory  it's  an  earthly  title.  You 
may  think  that  she  wants  but  little  here  below,  but 
I  can  tell  you  she  wants  that  little  pretty  big  and 
pretty  long.  Eldon  must  be  at  least  twenty  years 
older  than  Mamasha,  and  she's  no  chicken,  but  then 
he's  got  money  to  burn  up,  as  you  Americans  say,  and 
estates  galore.  You  didn't  encourage  the  old  girl 
sufficiently,  I  fear,  Quentin,"  and  Valery  gave  him  a 
sly  poke  in  the  region  of  the  ribs  with  the  end  of  his 
rod.  "If  I  am  booked  for  a  new  step-papa,  I  don't 
see  why  it  couldn't  have  been  you." 

"What  are  you  talking  of,  Valery  dear?"  called 
Madame  from  the  seclusion  which  she  and  Lord  El- 
don had  chosen. 

"I'll  tell  you  if  you'll  tell  me  what  you  are  talking 
about,"  called  back  the  irrepressible  Yalery.  "Turn 
about's  fair  play,  eh?" 

Alixe  and  Gartha  occupied  their  time  in  wandering 
in  the  meadows  or  on  the  hillsides,  picking  flowers. 
When  they  had  found  enough,  they  made  them  into 
wreaths,  which  was  Gartha' s  fancy,  and  crowned 
Lord  Eldon,  who  was  thus  made  to  appear,  as  Lo 
probably  felt,  extremely  foolish,  and  even  Yalery  sul - 
mitted  himself  to  the  indignity  and  was  made  to  lock 
like  a  veritable  Bottom,  with  his  jovial  face  and  broad 
smile  encircled  by  a  frame  of  leaves  and  flowers. 

"Poor  Alixe,"  said  Yalery,  his  wreath  falling  un- 
becomingly over  one  eye,  "they  have  ruined  her 
nationality  among  them." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  251 

"Her  nationality?  "  asked  Queutin. 

"Yes,  what  country  do  you  think  claims  her?  " 

"  I  thought  her  a  Kussian ;  but  from  her  fluency  in 
French  I  thought  that  perhaps " 

"Most  of  your  people  are  fluent  in  French,"  said 
Valery,  "more  so  I  find  than  the  English  or 
the " 

"Not  to  speak  of  the  Irish,"  said  Quentin,  laugh- 
ing. "  But  what  do  you  mean  by  my  people?  Surely 
Madame  Alixe — Madame  St " 

"Yes,  an  American.     Her  father  was  a " 

"A  Kussian,"  said  Quentin,  "General  Petrof- 
sky " 

"  So  Mamasha  hasn't  let  you  into  the  secrets  of  the 
prison  house,  my  dear  fellow.  Well,  I  am  not  sur- 
prised. She  is  extremely  kittenish,  is  Mamasha. 
Mamasha's  past,  as  I  have  told  you,  is  shrouded  in 
mystery.  Her  first  husband,  the  first  she  owns  to, 
was  Alixe' s  father.  He,  number  one,  was  the  father 
of  my  little  wife,  also." 

Quentin  wondered  afterward  why  he  had  cared  if 
Madame  had  been  possessed  in  the  past  of  forty 
husbands,  and  why  two  were  more  to  be  regretted  than 
one,  but  at  this  time  he  did  not  reason  with  himself. 
He  only  felt  discomforted  at  Valery 's  repetition. 

"Yes,  he  was  a  very  good  sort,"  pursued  Valery, 
"not  in  the  least  an  outsider.  M3'  little  wife  wor- 
shipped his  memory.  I  never  saw  him,  my  late  la- 
mented father-in-law.  Alixe  scarcely  remembers 
him,  she  was  so  small  when  he  died.  Mamasha  re- 
tired from  the  field  of  conquest  for  a  short  time,  and 
then  she  emerged  from  her  lair  and  went  on  her  man 
hunt  again.  She  lay  at  the  mouth  of  her  cave  for  a 
while,  but  the  old  birds  were  too  shy.    ^he  could 


252  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

never  get  tliem  to  come  near  enougli  to  sprinkle  salt 
on  their  tails.  Then  began  the  race  over  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Europe.  Her  first  desire  was  a 
Prince.  She  rose  one  somewhere  down  in  Eouma- 
nia,  I  believe.  That  recalls—"  Valery  laughed— 
"  her  primeval  name.  Back  in  the  dark  ages,  before 
she  had  all  those  husbands,  it  was  Gordon.  As  his 
first  wife  was  Scotch,  he  thought  he  would  not  try 
another  of  the  canny  Hielanders.  That  did  for 
her  with  the  Prince,  and  his  bones  did  not  whiten 
round  her  cave,  much!  Mamasha  tried  all  sorts  of 
bait  for  all  sorts  of  game.  Finally  she  wandered 
over  to  Kussia,  and  there  she  bagged  her  General,  one 
without  even  a  j)atent  of  nobility." 

"  No  one  has  a  better  position  than  an  army  officer, 
I  suppose,"  said  Quentin,  who  listened  politely, 
although  he  had  heard  much  of  this  before  from 
Yalery. 

"Yes,  if  he  had  been.  Don't  know  what  the  deuce 
he  was.  Whether  general  luggage-agent  or  general 
whipper-in  to  the  serfs,  when  they  crossed  the 
steppes.  At  all  events,  I'll  do  him  the  credit  to  say 
that  he  was  a  kind  old  party,  and  as  gold  or  silver  or 
some  kind  of  product  had  been  discovered  on  some 
land  of  his  somewhere,  he  sold  out  to  the  government 
and  shook  the  Tzar.  He  was  very  kind  to  Mamasha, 
and  the  little  girls,  as  well  as  to  Bruno  and  Halle. 
They  all  piled  right  on  to  him.  It  was  pretty 
hard  on  the  old  man  when  he  found  that  Mamasha 
had  elected  him  as  Director-General  of  a  regular  or- 
phan asylum,  but  Mamasha  has  no  shame,  and  finally 
the  General,  simply  worn  out  by  the  nursery  busi- 
ness, just  laid  himself  down  and  died  like  little  Betty 
Pringle.     This  relieved  the  situation.    Mamasha  had 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  253 

now  quite  a  little  bit  of  property.  She  could  go 
where  she  pleased  and  pose  as  an  interesting  widow 
for  the  second  or  third  time.  My  ancient  history 
doesn't  go  back  of  Carleton." 

"Come  up  here,Valery,  and  bring  Mr.  Quentinwith 
you,"  called  Madame  from  her  seclusion  upon  the 
hillside.     There  was  an  anxious  note  in  her  voice. 

"In  a  minute,  Mamasha  dear,  when  I  catch  this 
one  I  am  after  and  one  more,"  called  Yalery,  then 
dropped  his  voice  again.  "  She  had  a  very  comfort- 
able sum,  and  she  could  travel  about  without  any  very 
great  expenditure.  She  took  those  girls  to  all  the 
watering-places  on  the  French  coast.  She  threw 
them  at  every  man  she  saw,  but  she  didn't  have  to 
make  a  cast  very  often,  before  I  came  by.  I  dropped 
to  my  little  wife  at  the  first  throw,  and  I  was  never 
sad  a  day  in  my  life  until  I  lost  her."  Valery  puflfed 
away  silently.  He  did  not  speak  for  some  time,  con- 
tenting himself  with  aimless  casts  of  the  fly,  careless 
as  to  whether  he  succeeded  in  catching  anything  or 
not.  When  he  at  last  spoke  his  voice  trembled  and 
his  eye  was  moist. 

"She's  buried  up  there  on  the  hill,  poor  little 
Allaire,  near  the  General.  Alixe  would  have  it  so,  as 
soon  as  she  came  to  live  at  the  Abbey.  Little  Al- 
laire's memory's  always  green  with  me.  Mamasha 
keeps  the  General's  memory  green  by  digging  the  moss 
out  of  the  title.  A  title's  a  big  thing  until  you  can 
snatch  a  bigger,  one."  Valery  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders toward  Madame  and  Lord  Eldon  and  again 
threw  his  fly  up-stream. 

St.  Aubin  and  Halle,  strange  personalities  at  a 
child's  picnic,  talked  apart.  The  Baroness  and  Made- 
moiselle embroidered  and  sketched,  Alixe  and  Gartha 


254  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

occasionally  cheering  their  solitude  a  deux  by  a  pass- 
ing remark,  or  a  stop  for  a  few  moments  in  their 
neighborhood,  but  the  spontaneity  and  intimacy  of 
the  house  party  appeared  to  be  broken  up. 

It  seemed  a  relief  to  every  one  but  Gartha  when  it 
came  time  to  return  home,  and  the  different  members 
of  the  picnic  party  got  into  the  char-^-bancs  and  the 
landau  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  with  no  backward 
look  at  the  ground  where  they  had  spent  most  of  the 
day.     All  but  Gartha. 

"Alixe,"  she  said,  "I  have  had  a  perfectly  lovely 
time,  so  good  a  time  I  have  not  esperienced  not  since 
quand  j '  etais  gosse. " 


XXYH. 

QuENTiN  did  not  seek  Alixe  again.  He  was  to  leave 
the  Abbey  on  the  morrow;  of  what  use?  He  sat 
upon  his  small  balcony  late  into  the  evening,  and 
watched  far  into  the  night,  but  nothing  of  either  the 
natural  or  supernatural  world  came  to  disturb  him. 
He  arose  with  the  sun.  The  early  breakfast  was  to 
be  a  hurried  meal,  that  the  departing  guests  might 
catch  their  train.  Quentin  had  promised  to  return 
with  Lord  Eldou  to  England ;  beyond  that,  he  had  not 
planned. 

When  he  had  drunk  his  coffee,  listening  mean- 
while to  Madame's  voluble  expressions  of  regret  that 
he  must  leave  the  Abbey  so  soon,  said  in  exactly  the 
same  tone  in  which  he  had  heard  her  speak  to  Lord 
Eldon  as  they  stood  under  the  tree  upon  the  terrace, 
apparently  alone,  he  went  to  the  chateau,  to  find  the 
servants  for  the  purpose  of  lea\ang  with  them  that 
generous  tip  which  Americans  can  never  learn  is  the 
ruin  of  all  foreigners  of  that  class.  He  passed  through 
the  salon  and  into  the  dining  room,  but  the  place  was 
empty.  He  was  about  to  retrace  his  steps  when  he 
heard  a  voice  that  he  knew.  It  was  merely  a  sound 
that  he  had  heard,  but  the  sound  was  one  of  pain, 
and  then  he  caught  the  words : 

"Do  not  do  that  again,  Bruno."  The  voice  was 
that  of  Alixe.  The  tone  was  so  decided  that  he 
waited,  irresolute,  wondering  whether  he  ought  to 
interfere.     And  then  he  stood  silent,  feeling  that  the 


256  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

time  had  come  when  he  had  the  right  to  listen.     The 
next  words  that  he  heard  were : 

"  You  will  cause  me  to  leave  the  Abbey,  Bruno.  I 
will  not  bear  it. " 

Quentin  moved  toward  the  open  window.  His 
footsteps  were  now  heard  by  those  without. 

"  Who  is  that?  "  called  St.  Aubin. 

Quentin  stepped  quickly  out  upon  the  balcony. 
St.  Aubin  and  Alixe  were  standing  there.  He  was 
just  releasing  her  wrist  from  his  fingers.  As  he  did 
so,  Quentin,  whose  eyes  were  everywhere  at  this 
juncture,  saw  that  the  white  skin  bore  a  red  mark, 
and  that  she  at  once  clasped  the  reddened  wrist  with 
her  other  hand,  whether  to  hide  the  signs  of  vio- 
lence, or  to  soothe  the  wounded  member,  he  could 
not  tell. 

St.  Aubin  twisted  his  ugly  features  into  the  sem- 
blance of  a  smile. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Quentin,  "I  am  looking  for 
Charles." 

"Always  arriving  at  the  opportune  moment,  Mr. 
Quentin,"  said  St.  Aubin  from  between  his  teeth. 
"Perhaps  you  heard  my  wife  crying  out  just  now. 
Perhaps  you  thought  it  was  beauty  in  distress,  call- 
ing upon  some  true  knight  to  deliver  her." 

"I  heard  voices,"  said  Quentin,  "and  came  out  in 
the  hope  of  finding  Charles."  His  heart  was  beating 
tumultuously.  He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  doing 
— was  saying.  He  wondered  afterward  why  he  had 
not  seized  St.  Aubin  as  he  had  the  priest,  and  pitched 
him  over  the  balcony.  As  he  spoke,  Alixe  passed 
him  without  a  word.  She  was  very  pale.  Her  eyes 
were  blazing.  Turning  his  back  abruptly  on  St. 
Aubin,  he  followed  and  joined  her  inside  the  room. 


I 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  257 

and  walked  by  her  side  until  she  had  crossed  it 
and  had  passed  through  the  further  door.  He  found 
himself  within  a  square  hall  from  which  a  flight  of  cir- 
cular stairs  ascended.  This  was  a  part  of  the  Abbey 
into  which  he  had  never  been  asked  to  penetrate.  She 
took  no  notice  of  him,  walking  so  swiftly  that  he 
could  hardly  keep  pace  with  her.  As  she  placed  her 
foot  upon  the  lower  stair — 

"One  moment! "  he  said,  "I  wish  a  word  with  you, 
before  I  leave." 

"I  shall  not  come  down  again,  Mr.  Quentin.  What 
is  it?  " 

"I  am  going  away  this  morning,"  he  replied, 
"within  a  few  moments."  And  then,  in  hurried 
tones,  "Promise  me  that  if  ever  I  can  help  you,  you 
will  send  for  me.  I  will  come  from  the  uttermost 
quarter  of  the  earth.  Promise  me  you  will — "  His 
voice  shook  so  that  she  could  but  note  his  agitation. 
He  slipped  a  card  underneath  a  book  lying  upon  the 
table.  "  That  is  my  address.  It  will  always  find  me, 
'The  Travellers.'  Promise  me — "  Alixe  did  not 
look  at  him,  she  seemed  only  impatient  at  being  de- 
tained. When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  as  steady  as 
his  was  tremulous. 

"Do  not  leave  it,"  she  said,  "I  shall  never  send. 
Good-by." 

Without  a  hand  clasp,  without  another  look,  she 
vanished  up  the  stairway.  He  stood  there  until  he 
heard  that  heavy  upper  door  close  upon  her. 

"Quentin,"  called  Lord  Eldon,  "we  shall  lose  our 
train!     Where  have  you  been?  " 
17 


xxvni. 

"  The  wedding  will  come  off  in  November, "  Lord 
Eldon  had  confided  to  Quentin  as  they  crossed  the 
Channel.  "She's  a  dear  little  woman.  Do  you 
know,  Quentin,  I  thought  at  one  time  that  you  were 
in  my  way  there,  but  she  assured  me  that  you  had 
never " 

"  Oh,  no,  never !  "  Quentin  hastened  to  assert,  with 
perhaps  too  eager  tone ;  "  not  because  I  do  not  con- 
sider her  most  attractive,  but  because—"  Quentin 
ceased.  Lord  Eldon  smiled  to  think  how  much  more 
successful  he  had  been  with  the  charming  widow 
than  had  this  stalwart  young  American. 

''I  hope  it  isn't  the  title,"  continued  the  prospec- 
tive bridegroom,  somewhat  distrustfully.  ''She  as- 
sures me,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  to  all  of  which  Quentin 
listened  with  an  acquiescent  smile.  "I  want  to  pro- 
vide a  home  for  her  before  Bruno  makes  ducks  and 
drakes  of  all  the  remains  of  a  once  fine  fortune." 

"I  thought  they  were  so  rich  over  there,"  said 
Quentin.  "Miss  Spencer  gave  me  to  under- 
stand  " 

"  Miss  Spencer  knows  absolutely  nothing  about  it, " 
returned  Lord  Eldon.  "When  the  Duca  di  Brazzia 
married,  he  had  made  a  will  leaving  his  wife  a  large 
fortune,  but  the  second  marriage  played  havoc  with 
that.  After  St.  Aubin's  debts  were  paid,  there  was 
nothing  more  than  a  comfortable  living  for  them,  as 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  259 

we  look  at  things  over  here.  Our  poor  little  friend 
lias  a  difficulty,  I  fear,  in  making  both  ends  meet. 
The  Duchess  has  always  let  care  fall  upon  her  poor 
little  shoulders,  and  it  still  goes  on.  St.  Aubin  comes 
whining  for  money,  and  Madame  gives  it  to  him,  at 
his  wife's  order.  He  sees  how  low  the  funds  have 
fallen,  and  he  is  scrambling  round  to  try  to  make 
something  himself.  That  is  certainly  commendable, 
but  the  grand  entertainments  in  Paris  last  year  are 
what  has  caused  the  exchequer  of  the  Duchess  to  run 
so  low." 

"Are  you  sure  there  were  grand  entertainments?" 
said  Quentin.     "Don't  you  think  perhaps " 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Lord  Eldon,  "for  I 
have  been  at  them,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  now  that 
I  know  the  truth.  Taking  the  whole  Armenonville 
place  and  giving  a  fete.  Asking  sixty  persons  to 
breakfast  at  the  Eitz.  You  cannot  do  this  for  noth- 
ing. Taking  the  Marquis  of  Alderney's  yacht  and 
filling  it  with  people  who  play  nothing  but  baccarat, 
at  which  Bruno  is  a  very  unlucky  plaj^er,  not  to  speak 
of  the  colossal  debts  that  he  incurred  during  his 
cousin's  widowhood,  all  this  is  not  conducive  to  pil- 
ing up  a  fortune,  as  you  Americans  say.  He  has 
done  some  dirty  tricks  also.  I  have  heard  that  he 
has  had  her  casket  of  jewels  reset  entirely  with 
paste." 

Lord  Eldon  and  his  guest  arrived  at  Eldon  Towers 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  after  a  change  of  travel- 
stained  garments,  Quentin  descended  the  stairs  to  be 
presented  to  Lord  Eldon's  sister.  Lady  Alfred  Car- 
stairs,  and  to  find  a  table  set  with  tea  and  a  cheering 
assortment  of  hot  dishes.  His  thoughts  carried  him 
back  at  a  bound  to  that  other  tea  table  set  within  the 


260  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

walls  of  the  ruined  Abbey,  a  spot  which  he  felt  now 
that  he  had  visited  for  the  last  time. 

The  room  was  pleasantly  filled  with  people,  to 
some  of  whom  Quentin  was  made  known.  He  looked 
in  vain  for  a  familiar  face,  and  was  just  seating  him- 
self upon  a  distant  sofa,  cup  in  hand,  when  his  ears 
were  greeted  with : 

"Tou  dear  thing!  Where  did  you  come  from? 
Lady  Alfred  never  told  me  that " 

"I  told  you  that  Eldon  was  bringing  a  friend, 
Ada,"  called  Lady  Alfred,  from  her  seat  at  the  table, 
as  she  caught  these  words  pronounced  in  Miss  Spen- 
cer's high-pitched  key. 

Miss  Spencer  seated  herself  at  once  by  the  stran- 
ger, taking  possession  of  him,  so  to  speak,  with  both 
manner  and  voice. 

"You  know  I  told  you  we  should  meet  again. 
And  to  think  that  you  have  followed  me  all  the  way 
from  the  Abbey " 

"Isn't  that  what  all  your  adorers  do?"  said  Quen- 
tin gayly,  shaking  hands  with  the  only  person  in 
the  room  whom  he  had  ever  seen  before.  "You  can't 
think  how  I  have  looked  forward  to  this  meeting. 
Miss  Spencer,"  said  he,  in  his  most  flirtatious  tones. 
Life  was  ended  for  him.  Let  him  make  the  most  of 
the  dregs  that  remained. 

"You  dear  thing,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  "it  is  nice 
to  see  you.  Did  ce  cher  Bruno  succeed  in  blowing 
you  up  over  there  in  that  dreary  old  Ai3bey?  And 
did  you  fall  in  love  with  Alixe,  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  men?  Ah !  There  you  are.  Lord  Eldon.  I  hear 
great  things  of  you  and  Mamasha.  They  say  you 
never  left  her  doubly-widowed  side  by  day  or " 

Lady  Alfred  looked  quickly  up.     She  had  one  son. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  261 

Failing  an  heir  to  Lord  Eldon,  lier  boy  would  come 
into  the  title  and  the  estates. 

''Sugar,  Mr.  Poncefort?  "  she  said.  "What's  that, 
Eldon?  Who  is  it?  What  did  you  say,  Ada? 
Mamaslia?  What  a  remarkable  name!"  Lord  El- 
don was  very  red  in  the  face  and  very  angry  all  over. 

"If  you  are  speaking  of  Madame  Petrofsky,  Miss 
Spencer,"  he  said,  as  coldly  as  his  hot  anger  would 
allow,  "  I  can  only  say  that  she  is  a  very  dear  friend 
of  mine,  and  I  can  see  no  reason  why  her  pet  name, 
used  only  in  her  own  family,  should  be  spoken  by 
you  here  before  all  these  jjeople." 

"But  she's  a  dear  friend  of  mine,"  returned  the 
lively  young  woman,  her  tone  simulating  astonish- 
ment. "  I  always  call  her  Mamasha,  Lord  Eldon.  I 
call  her  so  to  her  face.  Which  I  venture  to  say  is 
more  than  he  does,"  she  whispered  in  an  aside  to 
Quentin.  "What  is  it?  Has  she  really  hooked  him 
at  last,  as  you  Americans  say?  How  furious  Lady 
Alfred  will  be?  "  Her  words  implied  that  Madame's 
eagerly  hunted  quarry  had  been  Lord  Eldon.  What 
man  is  without  a  spark  of  vanity?  Quentin  felt  a 
slight  sense  of  annoyance — although  he  had  not  re- 
sponded as  fully  perhaps  as  was  expected  of  him  to 
Madame's  kindness  of  manner — that  any  one  should 
imagine  that  the  opportunity  had  not  been  his  had 
he  chosen  to  grasp  it. 

Miss  Spencer  laughed. 

"I  see  what  the  trouble  is,"  she  said.  "The  best 
of  men  are  vain.  Mamasha  didn't  make  advances 
enough.  Why,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Quentin,  I  really 
thought  she  heard  you  say  your  prayers,  and  tucked 
you  up  every  night."  This  was  in  v/hispered  tones 
which  Lord  Eldon  sidled  near  to  catch  if  possible. 


262  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Poor  little  Mamasha !  She  is  going  to  be  My  Lady 
at  last.  Oh!  you  needn't  take  the  trouble  to  deny 
it.  I  see  it  in  his  beaming  smile,  and  his  auger  at 
my  harmless  remark."  Quentin  remained  silent, 
though  his  vacuous  look  was  almost  an  affirmation. 

"I  think  they're  a  perfect  pack  of  fools  over  there 
in  that  precious  Abbey,"  continued  Miss  Spencer, 
turning  her  back  on  the  others  and  addressing  herself 
exclusively  to  Quentin.  "Just  imagine  Alixe  giving 
Bruno  money  to  throw  away !  When  I  used  to  re- 
monstrate with  her  she  would  say  with  that  saintly 
smile  of  hers,  '  Poor  Bruno !  It  gives  him  so  much 
pleasure,  and  he  is  not  as  fortunate  as  most  people. 
Then,  too,  he  thinks  that  a  small  fortune  properly 
invested  now  will  make  a  large  fortune  in  the  future. 
I  tell  him  that  I  have  plenty  for  both,  but  Bruno  has 
really  a  great  deal  of  pride.'  That's  Miss  Alixe! 
Now,  did  you  ever  hear  of  such  an  absurdity,  Mr. 
Quentin,  sending  good  money  after  bad?  I  never 
could  understand  why  Bruno  is  too  good  to  live  on 
his  wife's  money.  All  the  other  men  do.  I  have 
heard  lately  that,  after  paying  his  debts,  she  really  is 
crippled.  The  debts  were  colossal,  and  now  he  thinks 
he  is  going  to  make  it  up  in  some  way.  I  don't 
think  it  makes  a  scrap  of  difference  who  has  the 
money,  do  you,  Mr.  Quentin?  Whether  he's  Span- 
ish, American,  bond  or  free,  man  or  woman."  And 
Miss  Spencer  nestled  confidingly  nearer  to  the  good- 
looking  American. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  that  it  does.  What 
do  you  mean  by  Spanish,  American,  bond  or  free?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  only  my  way  of  rattling  on.  That  dear 
family  over  there  does  require  so  much  explanation. 
Ce  cher  Bruno  is  a  Spaniard,  didn't  you  know  it? 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  263 

I've  told  you  that  before,  but  wliat  I  say  seems  to 
make  very  little  impression." 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  it,  but  with  the  surname  of  St. 
Aubin?" 

"  How  stupid  of  you,  Mr.  Quentin !  And  why  not? 
You  may  meet  any  amount  of  Frenchmen  with  Ger- 
man, Italian,  or  even  English  surnames.  Your  own 
name  must  have  been  French.  Probably  St.  Quen- 
tin." 

Quentin  admitted  the  fact. 

"There!  See  how  careless  you  Americans  are. 
Dropping  a  handsome  prefix  like  '  St. '  If  I  had  a 
name  or  a  prefix  to  conjure  with,  do  you  suppose  that 
I  would  go  about  with  such  a  common-place  name  as 
mine?  " 

"I  consider  Spencer  a  very  distinguished  name," 
said  Quentin  politely. 

"  Yes,  but  we  don't  belong  to  that  family,  you  see. 
Now  you  wouldn't  care  at  all.  You  Americans  are 
so  different  to  us." 

"So " 

"Different.  So  different  to  us.  What  did  you 
think  I  said?  " 

"  I  thought  you  said  different  from,  but  it  makes 
no  difference ;  I  believe  grammatical  errors  are  fash- 
ionable over  here." 

"I  consider  that  distinctly  saucy,"  said  Miss  Spen- 
cer, moving  away. 

"Don't  go,"  said  Quentin;  "come  back  and  tell 
me  if  you  have  not  heard  from  the  Abbey  lately." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  "and  news 
that  will  somewhat  surprise  you,  but  until  you  learn 
to  behave  yourself,  and  not  insult  a  British  subject, 
I  shall  tell  you  nothing." 


XXIX. 

On  the  following  day  Quentin  tried  all  means  of 
pacification  with  Miss  Spencer,  but  failed  signally. 
It  was  not  until  two  or  three  mornings  after  his  con- 
versation with  her  that  she  thawed  sufficiently  to 
allow  him  to  sit  on  the  same  bench  with  her,  under 
a  spreading  oak,  and  revert  to  the  occupants  of 
I'Abbaye  de  Bref.  So  long  as  he  could  not  remain 
at  the  Abbey,  he  was  glad  to  find  himself  in  a  place 
where  he  could  see  some  one  whom  he  knew,  and 
who  was  interested  in  its  inhabitants.  Miss  Spencer 
considered  that  several  days  of  banishment  of  the 
best-looking  man  in  the  house  was  quite  sufficient, 
considering  that  no  one  else  at  the  Towers  thought  it 
worth  while  to  snub  the  stranger;  and,  seeing  that  a 
certain  Lady  Kate  found  Quentin  extremely  agree- 
able, and  that  her  absences  with  him  on  long  walks 
about  the  place  were  becoming  somewhat  marked, 
Miss  Spencer  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to  thaw. 
She  found,  a  fact  which  did  not  give  her  any  particu- 
lar satisfaction,  that  a  word  about  the  Abbey  was 
enough  to  draw  him  near,  and  though  she  was  in- 
wardly provoked  at  the  thought,  she  used  her  bait 
judiciously,  so  that  it  came  about  that  Lady  Kate,  one 
morning,  much  to  her  chagrin,  saw  the  two  seated 
upon  the  shady  bench,  Quentin  evidently  so  engrossed 
that  he  did  not  even  see  her  as  she  passed  them  by. 
Lady  Kate  happened  to  be  a  young  woman  of  un- 


I 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  265 

bounded  curiosity,  and  the  sentence  that  she  caught 
as  she  walked  slowly  past  Miss  Spencer  and  Quentin, 
did  not  in  the  least  allay  that  curiosity. 

"Did  you  ever  discover,"  asked  Miss  Spencer,  in 
rather  louder  tones  than  were  necessary  to  carry  to 
Lady  Kate's  listening  ear,  "what  they  were  doing 
over  there  in  the  chalet  at  night?  " 

"What  who  were  doing?"  questioned  Quentin  in 
turn.  "  I  lived  in  the  chalet  and  I  was  sleeping  prin- 
cipally." 

"I  don't  mean  you,  of  course.  I  know  all  about 
that,  even  to  Mamasha's  religious  training  of  her 
latest  acquisition.  I  know  you  said  you  slept.  I 
mean  that  precious  Bruno  and  his  pious  assistant, 
that  priestly  imp  of  darkness.  My  room  overlooked 
the  terrace.  It  was  next  to  the  one  Alixe  has  always 
occupied,  the  Abbess's  room,  you  know,  with  the 
iron  doors.  I  wouldn't  have  slept  in  that  bed  for  an 
American  fortune.  The  most  ghostly,  ghastly,  weird 
thing !  It  looks  like  the  Great  Bed  of  Ware.  Just 
the  sort  of  thing  you  are  shown  in  the  houses  where 
Elizabeth  stopped,  when  she  made  her  progresses. 
It  had  to  be  large,  I  suppose,  to  keep  pace  with  the 
room.  That,  I  believe,  is  almost  the  size  of  the  great 
salon.  Even  in  the  room  they  gave  me,  not  such  a 
desert  waste  as  the  Abbess's,  but  big  and  gloomy 
as  a  barn,  I  always  had  my  maid  sleep  on  the 
lounge." 

"Why?"  asked  Quentin. 

"As  if  you  didn't  know  the  stories!  Not  that  I 
ever  saw  anything,  but  you  know  They  never  come 
to  two  persons  together." 

"Who?"  asked  Quentin. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  returned  Miss  Spencer,  with  an 


266  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

incredulous  look  in  her  eyes,  "  jon  know  very  well 
what  I  am  talking  about." 

"You  know  the  Towers  is  haunted,  don't  you?" 
asked  Quentin. 

"  Yes,  the  other  wing.  I  never  sleep  there.  In 
fact,  this  visiting  at  swell  country  places  is  the  most 
wearing  process;  it's  going  to  be  my  death.  Now 
don't  you  think  I've  fallen  off,  really?  I  go  to  these 
ghostly  old  houses  and  never  sleep  a  wink,  and  the 
consequence  is  that  I'm  so  sleepy  all  day  that  I'm 
dreadfully  dull.  Just  as  I  get  accustomed  to  my  sur- 
roundings, and  find  that  They're  not  coming  to 
frighten  me,  or  that  They  appear  in  the  other  part  of 
the  house,  my  time  is  up,  and  I  have  to  move  on,  and 
then  it  is  worse  than  ever.  Come,  now !  Tell  me  why 
those  lights  were  burning  in  broad  daylight " 

"Probably  fell  asleep  and  forgot  to  put  them  out," 
said  Quentin  carelessly. 

"  Very  likely.  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  was  the 
reason?  " 

"  The  same  reason  as  your  own — afraid ! "  said  he, 
laughing. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  "not  two  of  them. 
They  were  up  to  some  dark  and  deadly  deeds." 

"He  always  spoke  very  freely  of  his  chemicals," 
said  Quentin,  who,  much  as  he  disliked  St.  Aubin, 
did  not  care  to  discuss  his  methods  with  Miss  Spen- 
cer, after  having  been  a  guest  of  the  house  where  he 
was  at  least  nominal  head. 

"Haven't  you  any  idea?"  pursued  his  questioner. 

Quentin  was  silent. 

"Not  the  slightest?" 

"I  can't  see  anything  so  mysterious  about  it,"  said 
Quentin."     "Of  course  if  you  were  afraid  of  his  ex- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  267 

periments,  you  were  right  to  leave  the  Abbej^  but 
Lord  Eldon  and  I  remained  some  days  later,  and  we 
escaped  alive,  as  you  see." 

"He  may  not  have  been  making  experiments  at 
all,"  acquiesced  Miss  Spencer. 

"This  much  I  know.  Those  great  carboys  that 
came  just  before  you  all  flew  away  in  such  terror 
were  filled  with  St.  Evian." 

Miss  Spencer  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  so  shrill 
that  Lady  Kate,  who  was  talking  with  the  gardener 
in  the  near  neighborhood,  started  at  the  sound  and 
looked  toward  the  couple. 

"I  believe  Harry  Ware  was  right,"  said  she  when 
she  could  speak. 

"  Harry  Ware?  "  said  Quentin  inquiringly. 

"  You  never  saw  him.  He  was  there  the  week  be- 
fore you  came.  He  was  another  of  dear  Mamasha's 
discoveries.  He  was  full  of  Americanisms,  a  perfect 
little  cad.     How  they  stood  him  I  do  not  see." 

"Gartha  thought  him  charming,"  said  Quentin. 
He  fell  to  laughing  softly,  recalling  Gartha's  words 
and  manner  as  she  repeated  the  words,  "  That  is  the 
last  of  Hen— e — ry  Ware." 

"I  learned  lots  of  Americanisms  from  him,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Spencer.  "  I  am  never  quite  sure  what 
the  different  ones  mean,  but  I  think  they  are  lovelj-^ 
all  the  same." 

Quentin  listened,  an  amused  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  I  have  been  stopping  in  the  house  of  one  of  your 
rich  Westerners,"  she  continued,  "and  he  very  often 
said  that  he  felt  like  a  busted-up  sequence.  What  is 
a  busted-up  sequence,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

"I  never  heard  of  one.  Why  didn't  you  ask  your 
Western  friend?  " 


268  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Why !  He  did  tell  me,  but  I  have  forgotten.  At 
all  events,  it  is  extremely  picturesque.  Don't  you 
think  so?  " 

"  I  don't  think  anything  picturesque  that  I  don't 
understand,"  said  her  listener. 

"  And  now  it  seems  to  me  it  was  a  flush.  Not  a 
sequence,  a  flush,     A  busted-up  flush." 

Quentin  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Mr.  Quentin.  Don't  be  so  seri- 
ous.    Where  were  you  born?  " 

"  Near  a  little  town  on  the  North  Eiver. " 

"  The  North  Eiver?    Is  that  in  Canada?  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  said  the  Hudson  Eiver.  I  spoke 
locally." 

"Oh!  Hudson's  Bay?" 

"No,  in  New  York.  I  am  aware  that  it's  the  fash- 
ion to  know  nothing  about  us  over  here " 

"  Now  that  isn't  fair.  I  may  as  well  say  that  you 
know  nothing  about  us.  Come,  now!  Tell  me  the 
counties  of  England?  There !  You  are  silent.  Born 
in  New  York,  you  say?  How  can  there  be  a  river 
in  a  city,  and  also  a  little  town  and " 

"We  have  a  State  called  New  York." 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  have  heard  so.     How  large  is  that?  " 

"A  little  larger  than  England." 

"How  you  do  like  to  tease  one,  Mr.  Quentin.  I 
shall  go  away." 

"  It  is  quite  true.  I  was  born  in  the  country  near 
the  little  village.  That  was  our  post-office  town.  It 
is  a  mile  away  from  our  house." 

"Oh!  Not  born  in  the  village!  You  Americans 
come  up  so  suddenly!  I  thought  you  might  have 
been  born  in  a  place  like  Dillston  or  Ledley.  How 
large  was  the  village?  " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  269 

"About  a  thousand  people." 

"What  were  they  like?  Did  you  know  any  of 
them?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  them  all." 

"  Know  them?  Mercy  on  me !  How  terribly  dem- 
ocratic ! " 

"Well,  not  exactly  what  you  would  call  knowing 
them.  Rather,  they  knew  me.  I  grew  up  there  as 
a  lad.  I  knew  every  house  in  the  place.  I  used  to 
run  into  them  as  a  child " 

"  Run  into  people's  houses?     How  did  you  dare?  " 

"  There  was  no  daring  about  it.  They  asked  me. 
I  knew  their  children.  My  grandfather  owned  their 
village,  besides  another  farther  on ;  but  of  course  I 
didn't  take  advantage  of  that.  They  were  all  my 
friends  and  were  glad  to  have  me  come." 

"Owned  two  villages!"  exclaimed  his  listener. 
"How  did  he  come  to?  " 

"  It  was  a  grant  of  land  given  to  one  of  my  ances- 
tors in  1690,  I  believe.  It  was  granted  by  William 
and  Mary.  The  yellow  old  parchment  hangs  in  my 
grandfather's  hall,  queer  old  signatures,  and " 

"Ancestors!"  exclaimed  Miss  Spencer,  "I  didn't 
know  you  had  any  over  there." 

"We  can't  help  it,"  Quentin  smiled  teasingly. 
"We  don't  all  believe  in  either  the  protoplasm  or 
the  Darwinian  theory.  I  know  we  haven't  any  rights 
in  the  way  of  having  ancestors,  but  we  had  to  de- 
scend from  somebody,  we  couldn't  all  be  hod-car- 
riers, there  wouldn't  be  hods  enough,  you  see." 

"Don't  be  nasty,  Mr.  Quentin,"  pleaded  Miss 
Spencer,  settling  down  again.  "  I  really  am  inter- 
ested to  learn  all  about  you.  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  some  more  Americanisms.     Harry  Ware  told  me 


270  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

some  more.  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  one,"  and  Miss 
Spencer  mentioned  some  words  wliich  are  seldom 
heard  by  ears  polite. 

"  What  queer  people  your  friend  must  know,"  re- 
marked Quentin  carelessly.  "Isn't  it  a  pity  that 
while  he  is  there  he  shouldn't  try  to  know  the  best?  " 

"  Is  it  really  so  bad'? "  said  Miss  Spencer  aston- 
ished. "I  thought  it  was  only  an  Americanism! 
Come,  now,  don't  be  nasty !  He  did  not  say  that 
your  President  and  Parliament  used  it  habitually, 
but  he  said " 

"  Did  he  tell  you  anything  about  the  slave  States 
of  Vermont  and  about  our  smearing  corn  with  mo- 
lasses and  eating  it?  I've  heard  a  tale  something 
like  that  over  here;  but,  come,  Miss  Spencer,  don't 
let  us  indulge  in  unpleasant  personalities  as  regards 
our  respective  countries.  I  am  sure  I  am  devoted  to 
you  and  yours.  Tell  me,  to  change  the  subject,  have 
you  heard  from  your  friends  across  the  Chaimel  of 
iate?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  Miss  Spencer  with  a  superior 
tone ;  "  I  had  a  letter  from  Madame  only  two  or  three 
days  ago." 

"And  you  never  told  me?  " 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you?  Besides,  we  were  not  on 
speaking  terms." 

"  You  mean  that  you  were  not.  I  was  always  your 
bounden  slave.  Tell  me  how  things  are  going  at  the 
Abbey." 

Quentin  spoke  with  an  assumption  of  carelessness ; 
in  reality  his  heart  was  thumping  violently,  and  there 
was  a  rushing  sound  so  loud  in  his  ears  that  it  al- 
most drowned  Miss  Spencer's  reply. 

"  The  Abbey  is  closed,"  she  said. 


THE  AilCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  271 

«  What !    What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"The  Abbey  is  closed." 

"  Closed?  The  Abbey  is  closed?  How  long  has  it 
been  closed?" 

"Oh,  it's  been  closed  since  just  after  you  left; 
That  very  day,  I  think,  or  the  next.  I  heard  it  from 
Mademoiselle.  Mr.  Valery  has  taken  Gartha  over  to 
see  some  relatives,  Bruno  has  flown  away  on  one  of 
those  mysterious  trips  of  his,  dear,  pretty,  playful,  lit- 
tle bear  that  he  is !  That  dreadful  priest  has  gone  in 
hiding.  Mamasha  bundled  every  one  out,  neck  and 
crop,  after  you  left.  The  poor  old  Baroness  will 
have  to  sit  in  front  of  Maxim's  now,  if  she  wants  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  Baron.  Mamasha  and  Made- 
moiselle have  gone  into  an  apartment.  Mademoi- 
selle says  that  Mamasha  seems  to  be  buying  out  the 
shops:  Pacquin,  Raudnitz,  Au  Gagne  Petit,  Louvre, 
all's  fish  that  comes  to  Mamasha's  net." 

"You  have  not  mentioned — mentioned — Al — Ma- 
dame—Madame St.  Au— the— the— Duch— "  stam- 
mered Quentin  helplessly. 

"Don't  flounder  so!  It's  really  distressing!  I 
don't  wonder  you  don't  know  her  name.  It  never 
seems  to  me  as  if  Alixe  had  a  name.  What !  Haven't 
you  heard  about  her?  " 

"Heard  about  her?"  the  color  left  Quentin's 
cheek.     His  breath  came  thick. 

"You,  too,"  said  Miss  Spencer,  surveying  him 
coolly.  "Well,  I'm  not  astonished.  They  are  all 
like  that.  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  she  certainly  has 
no  beautv,  and  she's  so " 

"She  has  gone?     Where?" 

"That's  just  the  point,"  said  his  informant.  "No- 
body knows." 


272  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Nobody  knows?" 

Miss  Spencer  shook  her  head.  She  had  never  been 
of  such  deep  interest  to  Quentin  before.  She  in- 
tended to  keep  him  in  that  frame  of  mind  as  long 
as  possible. 

"Surely  you  know  something." 

"  This  is  the  story  that  Mademoiselle  wrote  me — 
Now,  this  is  a  lesson  to  you.  Don't  quarrel  with  your 
best  friend.     Had  you  treated  me  properly " 

"  And  Mademoiselle  said " 

"  Mademoiselle  said  that  early  on  the  morning  that 
you  resolved  to  leave  the  Abbey,  she  had  break- 
fasted, and  was  sitting  in  her  window  doing  what  she 
calls  a  sketch,  one  of  those  interminable  daubs  of 
hers,  I  suppose " 

"  Her  window !    Where  is  her  window?  " 

"Just  over  the  little  balcony  outside  the  small 
breakfast  room.  She  said  that  she  was  quite  bus}^ 
and  not  thinking  particularly  of  the  chateau  or  its 
inhabitants,  when  suddenly  she  heard  voices  under- 
neath. She  listened,  without  listening,  until  she 
heard  your  name.  You  know  perhaps  that  ce  cher 
Bruno  did  you  the  honor  to  be  jealous  of  you.  Then, 
when  she  heard  your  name,  she  began  to  listen.  She 
hates  Bruno  almost  as  badly  as  Gartha  does,  and  she 
is  one  of  the  few  women  who  adore  Alixe.  I  suppose 
that  Alixe' s  interfering  with  her  is  so  remote  a  possi- 
bilitv " 

"And  then " 

"  Suddenly  she  heard  a  scream.  She  said  it  was 
a  sort  of  subdued  scream.  I  don't  read  French  verj- 
well,  but  I  gather  that  it  sounded  as  if  Alixe  couldn't 
help  it,  as  if  she  tried  to  suppress  it.  Then  she 
heard  another — Mademoiselle,  I  mean.     She  leaned 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  273 

out  of  her  window  very  cautiously,  for  fear  that 
Bruno  should  spy  her,  you  know  in  what  mortal 
terror  they  all  stand  of  Bruno,  and  she  saw  that 
Bruno  had  the  wrist  of  Alixe  in  his  yellow  fingers, 
and  was  twisting  it  round  as  far  as  he  could,  so  far, 
in  fact,  that  he  had  brought  her  to  her  knees.  She 
heard  Alixe  say  in  tones  of  increased  passion,  yes, 
these  were  the  words,  '  Acces  de  colere! ' — 'Coward! 
You  coward ! '  she  said,  '  let  me  go ! '  Oh,  you 
needn't  be  Avorried.  I  don't  believe  he  got  anything 
out  of  Alixe.     She  has  the  obstinacy  of  a  mule." 

Quentin  spoke  very  fast  and  monotonously. 

"Well,  well,  tell  me  at  once,  do  you  hear?  At 
once,  where  she  has  gone?  " 

"  Oh,  now !  was  it  going  to  lash  itself  into  a  rage, 
and  thrash  about,  and  go  into  hysterics?  Calm  its 
little  self,  do ! " 

"Will  you  tell  me,  or  shall  I  go  to  Lord  Eldon?  " 
Quentin  started  as  if  to  rise. 

"Bless  you,  he  doesn't  know!  Nobody  knows. 
They  haven't  the  most  remote  glimmering  of  an  idea. 
Mamasha  doesn't  care,  because  she  has  other  fish  to 
fry,  and  the  fire  may  go  out.  Is  it  the  old  gentle- 
man? Do  tell  me.  I  had  designs  in  that  direction 
myself,  but  if  Mamasha  has  her  clutch  on  him " 

"Did  she  leave  no  message?  " 

"Who,  Mamasha?  Oh,  you  mean  Alixe!  No,  the 
place  is  as  empty  as  my  pocket.  There  is  no  one  left 
there  but  the  servants.  Even  the  superior  Barker  is 
gone." 

"  Did  she  leave  the  Abbey  before  Madame  Petrof- 
sky?"  was  Quentin' s  next  question. 

"Yes,  she  left  first,  between  two  days,  Mademoi- 
selle said.  And  then  the  dear  little  Bruno  left. 
18 


274  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Don't  you  love  him  for  liis  grotesqueness?  I  should 
like  to  have  him  for  a  pet;  it  would  be  just  like  hav- 
ing a  mongoose  or  a  hyena,  wouldn't  it?  You  needn't 
hurry  me  so," — in  answer  to  a  flash  from  Quentin's 
eye, — "after  she  had  shaken  the  dust  from  her  soul 
— soles,  I  mean " 

"Then?     Then?     Then?" 

"  Then  that  surly  priest  went  off,  faded  away,  they 
said,  as  if  he  never  had  been.  He  was  positively  of 
no  use  at  a  house  party.  You  couldn't  get  up  a  flir- 
tation with  him  to  save  your  soul.  Then  Mamasha 
bundled  the  rest  of  them  out,  and  the  place  is  given 
over  to  the  ghosts." 

"  Where  can  she  be? "  exclaimed  Quentin,  half 
rising. 

"  Who?  Mamasha?  Somewhere  uj)  near  the  Arc, 
I  believe,  near  the  Champs  Elysees,  Rue  Balzac,  I 
think;  or  no !  It's  the  other  side.  Avenue  de  I'Alma. 
At  all  events,  I  will  give  you  the  address,  if  you  want 
to  write " 

"  I  do  not  mean  Madame ;  I  mean " 

"Oh,  Alixe!  That  I  can't  tell  you.  How  often 
must  I  repeat  it !  She  has  hidden  her  trail  so  well 
that  even  Bruno  can't  find  her.  Poor  little  cub !  I 
wouldn't  be  married  to  Alixe  for  all  the  fortunes  of 
the, Orient.  She's  always  up  in  the  clouds,  always  in 
heroics,  mourning  over  the  dead,  or  the  living,  or " 

Quentin  was  not  listening  to  Miss  Spencer,  he  was 
wondering,  wondering,  wondering,  and  his  surmises 
brought  to  him  no  answer.  Had  she  but  sent  for 
him  as  he  had  asked  her  to  do !  But,  of  course,  she 
could  not  send  for  him,  the  thought  was  absurd. 
Miss  Spencer's  voice  was  going  on,  though  he  hardly 
,  heard  it. 


I 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  275 

"Alixe  always  was  a  jjerfect  idiot.  The  idea  of 
letting  MamasLa  take  enougli  of  lier  fortune  to  pay 
Bruno's  debts.  They  say  that  Mamasha,  dear  little 
honest  soul,  stowed  enough  away  to  keep  herself 
going.  Alixe  knows  nothing  about  money ;  so  little, 
that  they  say  she  still  thinks  herself  rich.  This  I 
have  just  heard  from  Mademoiselle.  She  hates  Ma- 
masha, though  she  has  to  live  with  her.  You  know 
one  must  live,  and  she  would  die  anywhere  else,  for 
no  one  would  have  her,  she " 

Miss  Spencer's  stream  of  words  was  brought  to  a 
standstill  b^^  Quentin,  who  had  risen. 

"  I  am  going  to  Paris  this  afternoon,  Miss  Spen- 
cer," he  said.  "Can  I  take  a  message  to  Madame 
Peti'ofsky  for  you?  " 

"  Going  to  Paris !  "  she  gasped,  rising  in  her  turn, 
and  discovering  too  late  that  the  very  means  which 
she  had  taken  to  keep  him  were  hurrying  him  away 
from  Eldon  Towers. 

"Where  can  I  find  a  time-table?"  he  said;  and 
started  impetuously  toward  the  house.  Miss  Spencer 
found  herself  forced  to  accompany  him  across  the 
lawn  in  a  most  undignified  gait. 

"Don't  race  so,"  she  said,  "I  can't  get  my  breath. 
You  can't  get  away  until  after  lunch,  that  I  know. 
I  hardly  know  if  you  will  be  able  to  catch  the  night 
boat.     You  don't  really  mean  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  certainly  do  mean  it.  I  will  go  and  tell 
my  man.  Meantime,  if  you  will  just  write  down 
Madame  Petrofsky's  address  for  me,  I  shall  be 
obliged." 


XXX. 

As  Quentin  left  Eldon  Towers,  Miss  Spencer  handed 
him  a  folded  paper.  She  did  this  with  an  air  of  pro- 
prietorship which  enraged  one  or  two  onlookers,  who 
knew  as  well  as  Miss  Spencer  herself  that  she  had 
no  proprietary  rights  vested  in  this  good-looking 
stranger.  But  to  their  astonishment  he  seized  upon 
the  paper  as  if  it  were  the  deed  of  a  gold  mine,  and 
thanked  the  giver  effusively,  almost  tenderly.  This 
puzzled  those  who  saw  it,  and  caused  Miss  Spencer 
to  chuckle  to  herself  for  the  next  few  days.  "  Even 
if  you  can't  have  a  thing,"  she  mused,  "it  is  just  as 
well  to  make  other  people  think  you've  got  it.  It 
enhances  your  value." 

Quentin  crossed  from  Southampton  in  one  of  those 
particularly  dirty  boats  which  make  one  feel  that 
England  still  lives  in  the  dark  ages,  so  far  as  travel 
is  concerned,  but  the  journey  was  made  more  quickly 
in  this  way  because  of  the  proximity  of  Eldon  Tow- 
ers to  the  lines  running  to  that  ancient  and  smoke- 
begrimed  city.  He  had  wired  for  a  room  on  board 
the  boat,  but  when  he  reached  the  wharf  he  found 
that  the  only  one  had  been  given  to  a  woman  with 
a  little  ailing  child.  Naturally,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  said. 

"Where  are  those  fine  boats,"  he  asked  of  a  dirty 
cabin  boy,  "which  this  company  advertises  exten- 
sively  as    crossing   every   night    to  France? "     He 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  277 

was  answered  that  they'd  been  "took  hoff  to  run 
to  the  Channel  h'islands  as  the  ter'havel  was  so 
'eavy." 

The  night  was  dark  and  rainy,  the  soot  was  falling 
everywhere,  and  when  Quentin  arose  in  the  morning, 
the  light  grey  suit  in  which  he  had  travelled  was  a 
mass  of  streaks  and  blotches.  He  had  obtained  the 
seclusion  which  he  desired  by  a  liberal  douceur  to 
the  captain,  who  must  probably  remain  up  all  night, 
as  the  weather  was  very  thick  and  foggy.  The  boat 
arrived  at  Havre  too  late  for  the  Paris  train,  and  he 
must  fain  content  himself  with  rebellious  patience  for 
some  hours,  until  another  train  should  start.  He 
reached  Paris  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  when  he  had 
removed  the  signs  of  travel  he  left  his  hotel,  and 
went  in  search  of  Madame. 

Quentin  drove  to  the  apartment  house  whose  ad- 
dress Miss  Spencer  had  given  him.  He  asked  for 
Madame  Petrofsky,  and  almost  pushed  past  the  con- 
cierge in  his  haste  to  mount  the  stairs.  The  woman 
looked  astonished,  and  said  at  once  that  the  lady  did 
not  live  there. 

"But  she  does  live  here,"  replied  Quentin.  "Here 
is  her  address."  The  concierge  took  the  paper, 
turned  it  upside  down,  and  wrong  side  up,  studied 
the  enigmatical  English  screed,  and  then  repeated 
that  the  lady  did  not  live  at  No.  37. 

"Who  is  living  in  the  house?  "  asked  Quentin  im- 
peratively. 

"  In  the  entresol  was  a  French  family.  Au  premier 
was  the  American  consul.  These  Americans  always 
took  the  finest  floor  and  paid  the  highest  prices. 
Why,  only  yesterday,  if  Monsieur  would  believe  it, 
Henri  went  just  across  the  Champs  Elys^es  on  a 


278   THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

small  errand,  and  when  he  returned   the  American 
monsieur  gave  him  one  franc  fifty " 

"  Have  you  no  idea  where  Madame  Petrofsky  lives? 
A  Kussian  lady  accompanied  by  a  small  French 
lady?"  Here  Quentin  recalled  Gartha's  description 
of  the  Weasel,  and  was  almost  minded  to  recite,  "  Elle 
est  caract^risee  de  la  maniere  suivante."  However, 
his  description  was  a  minute  one,  which  would  not 
have  sounded  exactly  flattering  to  Mademoiselle  had 
she  heard  it.  Madame  was  described  with  the  same 
minuteness,  but  she  came  off  better  at  his  hands. 
Still,  the  pleasant-faced  concierge  smiled  and  shook 
her  head  and  insisted  that  no  such  ladies  lived  in  the 
house,  that  Monsieur  must  have  deceived  himself, 
the  address  must  be  wrong.  These  English  had 
much  to  learn  in  the  matter  of  writing.  "  Sale  An- 
glais ! "  muttered  the  concierge  under  her  breath,  not 
quite  sure  of  her  ground,  through  not  having  learned 
that  Monsieur  belonged  to  the  lavish,  English-speak- 
ing, American  nation.  Quentin  put  some  money  into 
her  hand  to  encourage  her  memory. 

"  Are  there  no  Russian  ladies  living  in  this  street 
or  in  this  block?  " 

"How  can  I  say.  Monsieur?  Does  the  Monsieur 
expect  me  to  know  all  the  ladies  who  come  to  take 
the  apartments  for  a  little  while  in  the  street  or  in 
the  square?"  her  smile  growing  more  broad  as  she 
hastily  slipped  the  douceur  within  her  capacious 
pocket,  to  avoid  the  lynx  eyes  of  her  husband,  who 
just  then  appeared  in  the  court.  Quentin  went  to 
the  next  house  and  then  the  next,  but  with  no  suc- 
cess. He  then  dismissed  his  cab,  and  going  to  a 
nearby  telegraph  station,  he  wired  to  Miss  Spencer 
at  Eldon  Towers,  "  I  cannot  find  Madame  Petrofsky 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  279 

at  that  address.  Have  you  not  made  a  mistake? 
Please  wire  correct  address  at  once."  Like  most 
men  with  one  idea  and  an  uncontracted  bank  account, 
he  left  no  chance  for  misunderstanding  because  of 
curtailing  his  sentences.  To  make  sure  of  a  reply 
he  added,  "Answer.  Twenty  words  paid,"  signed  his 
name,  gave  his  hotel  address,  and  then  started  off  at 
railway  speed,  he  had  not  considered  where. 

After  ten  minutes'  walk  he  found  himself  in  the 
Cours  la  Reine.  He  looked  about  him  with  as  much 
astonishment  as  that  which  j)ossesses  a  Frenchman 
who  knows  nothing  but  his  own  quarter ;  but  for  the 
moment  all  places  were  alike  to  him.  The  discom- 
fort of  the  all-pervading  dust  which  was  flying  from 
the  buildings  in  process  of  being  erected  for  the 
great  Exposition  caused  him  to  look  about  for  an- 
other cab.  He  had  passed  the  stand  at  the  corner 
of  the  Avenue  Montaigne,  and  as,  at  the  moment,  one 
of  those  Juggernauts,  a  French  tram-car  or  train  of 
cars,  came  along,  lumbering  and  groaning  and  clear- 
ing the  way  with  its  irrepressible  tooting  horn,  Quen- 
tin  with  a  quick  bound  was  ui)on  the  step,  and  climb- 
ing to  the  top,  unheeding  the  remonstrance  of  the 
guard,  who  informed  him  with  a  very  serious  tone 
that  he  might  have  been  killed  by  so  daring  an  act. 
Quentin  laughed  in  his  face,  whereupon  the  guard, 
not  wishing  to  create  a  scene  with  so  well  dressed  a 
man,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  muttering,  "  Crazy  Eng- 
lish," and  returned  without  further  remonstrance  to 
the  taking  of  fares.  Quentin  walked  to  the  front  and 
took  a  vacant  seat  just  behind  the  driver.  His  back 
was  toward  the  river,  his  face  toward  the  driveway. 
He  was  ruminating  deeply.  "  Wliy  should  Miss  Spen- 
cer have  given  me  the  wrong  address?     What  could 


280     THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

have  been  the  reason?  Was  it  purposely  done? " 
Quentin  took  the  paper  from  his  breast  pocket,  and 
again  scrutinized  the  address.  No,  he  was  right. 
There  it  stood,  37  as  plain  as  possible.  Suddenh^ 
he  thought,  "  Why  did  I  not  telegraph  to  Lord  Eldon? 
He  would  have  known.  If  Alixe  is  in  Paris,  I  must 
see  her  some  time,  but  Madame  must  know  her 
whereabouts.     It  cannot  be  that  she  is  ignorant  of 

her  own  daughter's  address — I  must  see " 

A  carriage  was  whirling  swiftly  past  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  Quentin  at  first  regarded  it  absently, 
and  then  he  suddenly  rose  in  his  seat  calling,  "  Stop ! 
Stop!"  and  began  to  push  frantically  along  to  the 
back  of  the  car,  for  in  that  carriage  sat  the  object  of 
his  thoughts.  She  was  with  a  man,  and  that  man 
the  Archbishop.  Quentin  had  hardly  recognized  her 
before  he  saw  that  he  too  was  recognized  by  her. 
He  ran,  he  called,  he  stared,  he  pushed  past  the  pas- 
sengers, like  the  crazy  man  to  whom  the  guard  had 
likened  him,  and  as  he  ran,  he  waved  his  hand  to 
her.  She  did  not  smile  nor  did  she  call  the  attention 
of  the  Archbishop  to  him.  It  was  but  for  a  moment, 
and  then  it  was  the  back  of  the  landau  at  which  he 
was  staring  blindly,  as  he  felt  his  way  down  the 
stairs.  There  was  a  tussle  at  the  foot  as  he  tried  to 
spring  to  the  ground.  This  he  succeeded  in  doing, 
notwithstanding  the  rage  of  the  guard,  who  threat- 
ened him  with  certain  arrest  and  demanded  his  card, 
but  he  was  still  threatening,  still  demanding,  as  Quen- 
tin had  thrown  himself  into  a  passing  fiacre  and  was 
whirled  away  after  a  landau  which  was  going  rapidly 
up  the  Cours  la  Keine.  Although  his  cocher  had 
been  ordered  to  drive  like  a  gentleman  not  mentioned 
in  polite  history,  the  coming  Exposition  was  a  factor 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  281 

in  his  discomfiture.  The  great  scaflfoldings,  the  piles 
of  earth,  the  enormous  wagons  which  were  unload- 
ing jangling,  crashing  bars  of  iron  on  to  the  pave- 
ment, all  blocked  his  way,  and  when  he  turned  into 
the  Avenue  Montaigne,  he  saw  to  his  confusion  that 
there  were  several  carriages  ahead  of  him.  He  chose 
one  which  had,  he  thought,  a  familiar  aspect,  and  its 
chase  led  him  to  the  Champs  Elys^es.  The  cocher, 
by  dint  of  beating  his  poor  little  horse,  and  in  view 
of  the  liberal  offers  of  pourboire,  managed  to  follow 
the  landau  closely,  and  Quentin  came  up  abreast  of 
it  and  was  lost,  as  it  rolled  across  into  the  Eue  Wash- 
ington, for  as  he  agitatedly  turned  to  see  whom  the 
carriage  contained,  he  found  only  an  aged  dowager 
inside,  and  two  very  fat  poodle  dogs  looking  out  aim- 
lessly on  either  side.  With  a  sharp  word  at  his  ill 
luck,  he  ordered  the  cab  turned  about,  and  drove  to 
his  hotel,  there  to  wait  an  answer  to  his  message  to 
Miss  Spencer. 


XXXI. 

QuENTiN  sat  in  his  hotel  all  that  evening,  waiting 
for  the  answer  which  was  to  make  the  world  rose- 
colored  again  for  him.  No  such  occurrence  came  to 
cheer  him,  however,  and  he  went  to  bed,  angry  wdth 
the  world  and  Miss  Spencer,  and  Madame  in  particu- 
lar; Madame,  his  whilom  friend.  It  was  strange  that 
she  had  not  written  him  of  her  flight  from  the  Abbey. 
Why  had  not  Lord  Eldon  told  him  of  it?  The  only 
answer  to  this  was  that  Englishmen  are  proverbially 
reticent,  and  Lord  Eldon  might  not  have  thought 
that  the  subject  was  of  interest  to  Quentin.  When 
day  came,  he  went  at  once  to  the  telegraph  office. 
He  wired  Miss  Spencer  again  and  received  this  pro- 
voking answer:  "Did  not  wire  name  hotel.  Must 
made  a  mistake.  Possibly  wrote  seven  for  nine." 
This  was  as  Sanscrit  to  Quentin.  He  saw  now  very 
plainly  that  Miss  Spencer  had  not  intended  to  let 
him  have  Madame's  address,  if  she  could  prevent  it. 
He  then  wired  Lord  Eldon :  "  Kindly  send  me  Ma- 
dame Petrofsky's  address  in  Paris." 

Late  on  the  following  day  he  received  an  answer 
from  Lady  Albert  Carstairs :  "  Have  not  the  most  re- 
mote idea  what  it  is.  Eldon  gone  off  to  see  his 
uncle.     Sudden  attack.     Dying  in  Scotland." 

Again  he  telegraphed,  and  this  time  for  Lord  El- 
don's  address,  and  after  another  night  of  suspense  it 
came  to  him.     A  message  to  Lord  Eldon  to  the  Scot- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  283 

tisli  address  was  finally  answered,  and  having  spent 
three  fruitless  days  in  Paris,  eating  his  heart  out,  he 
at  last  rang  the  bell  at  the  number  which  Lord  Eldon 
had  sent  him.  This  time  he  was  ushered  into  the 
apartments  of  Madame  Petrofsk}-,  and  while  awaiting 
that  lad}' 's  appearance,  which  seemed  imminent  from 
the  sounds  of  the  jerking  out  and  closing  of  bureau 
drawers,  he  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
Just  across  the  way  he  gazed  down  into  the  pleasant 
face  of  the  concierge  who  had  assured  him  but  three 
days  before  that  no  such  ladies  as  those  whom  he 
sought  lived  in  the  street. 

After  awhile  the  rustling  and  thumping  ceased. 
There  was  dead  quiet  for  a  moment.  Quentin  could 
imagine  it  occupied  with  those  mysteries  of  the 
toilet  which  are  accomplished  by  soft  little  pats  and 
wipings-oflf  on  cheek  and  chin,  and  which  make  no 
noise  while  in  progress.  Then  the  door  opened,  and 
Madame  came  into  the  room.  She  ran  toward  Quen- 
tin with  a  little  cry  of  joy.  It  warmed  his  heart, 
which  his  good  sense  told  him  not  to  allow. 

"  You  dear ! "  she  said,  holding  his  hands  in  both 
of  hers.  "  How  good  it  seems  to  see  you  again.  And 
how  good  of  you  to  send  me  that  charming  chain. 
Quite  the  i)rettiest  thing  that  I  have  had  thus  far. 
And  what  are  you  doing  in  Paris?  " 

"I  came  to  ask  you  a  very  important  question," 
answered  Quentin;  "at  least,  a  question  important 
to  me." 

"Sit  down,  dear  friend,"  said  Madame.  She  ar- 
ranged herself  becomingly  against  a  pillow  of  Indian 
red  which  set  off  the  black  lace  pleatings  about  her 
face  and  throat.  Her  back  was  to  the  light,  a  bit  of 
calculation  which    Quentin    did   not   notice.     How 


284  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

young  she  looked,  with  her  trim  figure,  and  chiffons 
and  laces  of  the  most  modern  type.  Quentin,  even 
with  other  thoughts  uppermost,  noticed  several 
things  about  her  dress  that  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore. She  was  indeed  to  be  a  brand  new  bride  for 
Lord  Eldon.  Quentin  sat  down  and  faced  her.  The 
little  light  that  was  allowed  to  penetrate  fell  full 
upon  his  expressive  face,  and  struck  deep  into  the 
honest  grey  eyes.  She  leaned  toward  him,  her  lips 
trembling,  a  slight  pulsation  of  her  pretty  cheek  show- 
ing that  she,  too,  had  interesting  thoughts. 

"I  hesitate,"  he  said,  "because  it  is  a  subject  on 
which  I  fear  you  cannot  be  in  accord  with  me ;  but 
wrong  though  it  is,  and  wrongly  as  I  may  place  my- 
self within  your  eyes,  I  must  know  the  truth." 

Madame  raised  those  beautiful  innocent  eyes  of 
hers  to  his.  "Tell  me  what  it  is,  dear  friend,"  she 
said.     "  Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"If  you  should  refuse,"  murmured  Quentin,  "what 
should  I  do?  What  should  I  do?  Do  you  know," 
he  went  on  agitatedly,  "  that  I  have  been  looking  for 
you  for  three  whole  days?  I  have  wired  to  England, 
I  have  taken  every  means  to  find  you " 

"Has  Eldon  given  you  my  address?  "  As  Madame 
asked  the  question  she  made  room  for  him  beside 
her.  "Sit  here,"  she  said,  "sit  here  by  me."  He 
got  up  with  a  sigh  and  threw  himself  wearily  beside 
her.  She  slid  her  plump  hand  along  her  flounces, 
and  laid  it  within  his.  He  started  at  its  unexpected 
touch,  but  gave  it  a  kindly  answering  pressure. 

"There  is  nothing  that  I  would  not  do  for  you," 
said  she.  "  I  am  not  bound  in  any  way.  No,  I  am 
bound  only  to  please  myself.  I  have  made  no  prom- 
ises which  will  prevent.      Only  speak!     Speak,  my 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  285 

friend,  and  say  what  it  is  that  you  wish."  She  was 
so  near  Quentin  now  that  he  was  somewhat  discon- 
certed. He  loosened  his  grasp  of  her  hand  and  with- 
drew a  little. 

"You  will  tell  me? "  he  said  almost  sternly. 

"Yes,  yes!  What  is  it?"  Madame  looked  thor- 
oughly frightened.  She  knew  not  at  what.  A  life 
of  love  had  ever  been,  was  still  the  craving  of  her 
perennially  juvenile  heart.  Contradictory  as  the  state- 
ment may  seem,  when  one  considers  all  Madame's 
small  failings,  it  is  a  true  one.  Her  marriages  had 
been  to  her  mind  distinct  successes  from  a  worldly 
standpoint,  but  she  felt  that  she  had  been  sacrificed, 
first,  on  the  altar  of  Carleton,  a  man,  though  charm- 
ing, whom  she  had  not  loved,  and  yet  again,  on  ac- 
count of  the  little  ones,  for  whom  her  slender  purse 
had  not  been  able  to  provide.  Could  love  come  to 
her  but  once  before  she  should  pass  that  terrible 
boundary  where  youth  ends,  and  old  age  has  its  be- 
ginning, she  would  thank  the  gods  and  leave  worry 
for  others  less  fortunate  than  she. 

Neither  of  Madame's  marriages  had  been  love  mar- 
riages, and  she  had  failed  to  reach  that  acme  of  sup- 
posititious  perfect  bliss.  Madame  thought  that  she 
could  live  a  life  of  joy  if  all  things  would  but  con^ 
spire  to  aid  the  end  she  had  ever  had  in  view.  Our 
hearts  are  not  withered  at  forty-three,  nor  at  fifty- 
three,  and  oftentimes  not  at  sixty-three;  it  all  de- 
pends upon  the  digestion.  Ah !  poor  soul,  how  could 
Quentin  be  so  single-minded  as  to  dispel  all  sen- 
timent within  her  breast;  but  when  was  impetu- 
ous, youthful  love  ever  kind,  except  to  the  chosen 


one 


"Where  is  Alixe?  "  asked  Quentin. 


286  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

All,  it  had  come !  That  terrible  question  which  she 
was  dreading,  yet  hoping  not  to  hear, 

"Alixe?"  Poor  Madame!  She  swallowed  some- 
thing, that  felt  like  a  knot  of  cotton  wool  in  her 
throat,  and  again  she  said,  "Alixe? " 

Madame's  digestion  was  perfect.  She  had  been 
invisible  on  occasions  because  of  headache,  but  when 
the  reason  for  invisibility  had  subsided  the  headache 
had  subsided  also.  To  this  perennial  heart,  then, 
what  must  have  been  the  shock  when  Quentin  erased 
all  sentiment  for  him  forever  within  her  breast,  by 
repeating  bluntly,  "Where  is  Alixe?  " 

"Alixe?  You  surprise  me ! "  Madame  sat  up  very 
straight.  "Whj^  should  you  speak  of  her  in  that 
way?    You  hardly  know  her." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  acquiesced  Quentin.  "You 
need  not  remind  me  of  that.  I  have  forgotten  con- 
ventionality, but  I — I  fear  she  is  in  great  trouble. 
I — I — am  led  to  suppose — "  He  broke  off  suddenly, 
and  looked  Madame  full  in  the  eye,  that  handsome 
eye  which  heretofore  had  looked  so  kindly  upon  him. 
"Do  you  know  where  she  is?  "  he  said. 

Madame,  grown  white,  by  reason  of  the  chill  which 
her  cherished  sentiment  had  received,  sank  back  upon 
her  sofa  quite  regardless  of  her  chiffons,  and  replied, 
"I  do  not." 

"Not  know  where  your  own  daughter  is?"  ex- 
claimed Quentin,  with  a  mixture  of  sternness  and 
entreaty  in  his  voice. 

" My  niece?     She  has  wilfully  left  me." 

"Very  well,  then,  your  niece,  though  this  is  no 
time  for  shams.  Valery  has  told  me  something  of 
the  family  history " 

"It  was  like  him,"  interrupted  Madame, 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  287 

"It  is  of  little  interest  whether  the  relation  that 
she  bears  to  you  is  that  of  niece,  daughter,  or  grand- 
daughter— "  Quentin  was  so  selfishly  in  earnest 
that  his  words  seemed  possessed  of  great  brutality. 
Madame  turned  a  greenish  shade,  she  gasped.  A 
reply  did  not  come  at  her  bidding. 

"I  must  find  her,"  finished  Quentin. 

Madame  struggled  to  speak.  When  she  could 
move  her  stiff  lips  the  words  came  haltingly. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  find  her,  she  a 
married  woman,  you  a  young— you  an  unmarried 
man;  and  she  herself  is  the  last  one  who  would  wish 
it.  You  are  not  of  our  family,  that  you  should  come 
interfering  in  this  way.  Eest  assured  that  when  we 
need  your  assistance,  Mr.  Quentin " 

"I  have  no  desire  to  interfere,  Madame  "—Quentin 
was  quite  oblivious  that  this  was  exactly  what  he  was 
doing,  at  that  moment — "but  I  hear  that  she  has  left 
her  home ;  that  the  Abbey  is  closed,  deserted !  I  beg 
of  you — I  beg  of  you,  tell  me  why." 

His  voice  shook  and  died  away  almost  to  a  whis- 
per. In  that  agitation  Madame  read  the  death-blow 
to  her  hoi)es.  She  began  at  once  to  comi)ose  a  men- 
tal letter  to  Lord  Eldon,  telling  him  that  she  would 
be  ready  at  the  earliest  date  which  he  had  named. 
AVhen  she  answered  Quentin,  her  voice  also  trembled, 
but  it  was  cold  and  distant. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  where  she  is,"  she  said. 

"You  mean  you  will  not." 

"I  mean  that  I  cannot.  Oh!  what  have  I  done 
that  that  woman  always  comes  between  mj  friends 
and  me?    I  mean  it,  I  cannot!    I  do  not  know." 

"You  do  not  know  the  address  of  the  person  or 
persons  with  whom  she  is  at  the  moment?  " 


288  THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"No!  No!  No!  How  often  must  I  tell  you, 
No!" 

"Will  you  swear  it?" 

"  I  will  swear  it  if  it  will  give  you  any  particular 
comfort,  if  it  will  cause  you  to  believe  me,  and  insult 
me  no  further."  She  put  her  shaking,  beringed 
hands  before  her  face.  A  long  sigh  escaped  her, 
the  sigh  of  final  relinquishment. 

"  Oh,  Madame ! "  exclaimed  Quentin,  "  I  have  hurt 
you!  Believe  me,  I  am  sorry.  I  am  too  wretched 
to  know  what  I  am  doing ;  I — ^I  thought  you  might 
have  seen  her.     I  saw  her  yesterday " 

"You  saw  her  yesterday.     Where?  " 

Quentin  was  about  to  say,  "  With  the  Archbishop," 
but  the  conviction  that  had  Alixe  wished  her  mother 
to  know  her  whereabouts,  she  would  have  confided 
in  her,  prevented.  What  right  had  he  to  disclose 
that  which  he  had  procured  only  by  chance? 

"I  saw  her  in  a  carriage  in  the  Cours  la  Reine," 
said  he. 

"  Then  she  is  in  Paris.     Did  you  speak  to  her?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  had  I  been  able  to  speak  to 
her  I  should  be  here  begging  her  address  from  you?  " 

The  tone  was  sharp ;  Madame  called  it  harsh  in  her 
thoughts. 

"Did  she  see  you?" 

"  She  saw  me,  yes,  I  think  she  saw  me." 

"  Oh,  then,  she  did  not  recognize  you !  Would  not, 
perhaps."  Why  should  not  Madame  also  administer 
a  few  stings? 

"No,  not  what  you  would  call  recognize  me."  It 
came  over  him  again,  painfully,  that  she  had  looked 
at  him,  but  had  made  no  sign  of  recognition. 

"  She  is  no  better  then  to  you,  it  seems,  than  to  the 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  289 

rest  of  us,"  said  Madame.  "She  has  behaved  in  a 
most  unkind  manner  to  her  husband  and  to  me.  I 
wash  my  hands  of  her  henceforth,  from  this  day." 

"  In  what  way  was  she  unkind  to  you? "  asked 
Quentin. 

"  She  left  us  in  the  night.  When,  I  do  not  know. 
They  are  all  in  her  pay  at  the  Abbey."  Quentin 
smiled  grimly  as  the  literal  truth  of  this  statement 
forced  itself  on  his  mind.  "They  pretend  to  know 
nothing.  I  only  know  that  she  had  not  been  to  bed. 
She  took  her  maid  Nanette  and  left  us  like  that " — 
Madame  snapped  her  glittering  fingers  in  air — "  with- 
out a  word." 

"  I  thought  you  would  know  something, "  said  Quen- 
tin miserably. 

Madame  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"Je  ne  suis  pas  la  rose,"  slie  said  shrilly,  "mais 
j'ai  v6cu  avec  elle.  However,  that  is  over;  I  doubt 
if  we  live  together  ever  again.  Valery,  great  Irish 
pig!  only  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands,  and  said 
that  Bruno  and  I  would  see  at  last  that  Alixe  had 
some  spirit.  Spirit!  Stealing  away  in  the  night! 
As  for  Bruno,  it  is  killing  him.  He  loves  her  to 
distraction." 

"  He  must !  "  said  Quentin  dryly. 

"What  do  you  mean!  I  never  saw  a  man  so 
changed.  His  business  keeps  him  away  a  great  deal, 
to  be  sure,  but " 

"What  business?"  asked  Quentin.  "I  knew  that 
he  trifled  a  little  with  potash  and  chlorides,  but  as 
to  anything  serious " 

"You  shall  not  speak  so  to  me  of  Bruno."  Ma- 
dame arose,  her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  were  no 
longer  innocent,  but  very  angry.  "He  has  made 
19 


290  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

some  very  good  sums  of  late,  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  his  business  is,  but " 

"  Well ! "  said  Quentin  desperately,  "  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  If  you  really  cannot,  or  will  not,  tell 
me  where  she  is " 

At  this  Madame  collapsed  upon  the  sofa,  bent  her 
well-preserved  face  upon  the  pillow  and  burst  into  a 
rage  of  tears.  "How  can  you?"  she  said.  The 
smothered  sounds  came  through  several  inches  of 
swansdown.  Quentin  stood  uncomfortable — irreso- 
lute. He  could  not  take  up  the  role  of  comforter ;  that 
had  become  distasteful  to  him,  and  besides  it  was  full 
of  danger.  He  stood  there,  looking  down  upon  the  top 
of  the  well  ondule  hair  of  his  sometime  friend,  wonder- 
ing how  the  ajffair  would  all  end.  Madame  was  really 
crying ;  there  was  no  pretence  about  that,  at  any  rate. 
Finally,  between  heartrending  sobs,  "Lower  the 
shades,"  she  said.  "All  of  them;  that  one  over  there 
at  the  corner.     I  am  a  perfect  fright  when  I  cry." 

Quentin  obediently  lowered  the  heavy  green  cur- 
tains, one  after  the  other,  and  reduced  the  room  to 
Cimmerian  darkness.  He  feared  to  stir.  In  imagi- 
nation he  saw  disaster  to  the  numerous  little  tables  in 
his  path.  As  he  stood  for  a  moment  to  get  his  bear- 
ings, and  accustom  himself  to  the  absence  of  light, 
"Do  you  know,"  said  Madame  in  smothered  tones, 
"  that  you  will  make  trouble  for  Alixe  if  you  hound 
her  about  in  this  way?  " 

He  was  feeling  his  way  warily  toward  the  door. 
"  Do  you  hear  me?  "  The  voice  had  lost  the  sound  of 
coming  through  down.     She  must  be  sitting  up. 

"  I  am  not  hounding  her, "  Quentin  weakly  pleaded. 
After  he  had  said  these  words  he  continued  to  grope 
toward  the  door.     He  went,  softly  groping,  groping, 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  291 

groping.  All !  Lis  hand  was  on  the  knob.  What 
luck !    He  held  it  firmly. 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  now?  Don't  stand 
there  by  the  window.  Come  over  here  and  tell  me 
what  you  intend  doing  now?  " 

"Nothing,"  answered  Quentin,  as  he  suddenly 
turned  the  knob.  A  strong  flood  of  light  entered, 
but  was  as  quickly  banished  as  he  shut  himself  away 
from  the  presence  of  Madame  and  ran  down  the  stairs 
and  out  into  the  Paris  sunshine. 


xxxn. 

When  Quentin  had  gone  without  doubt,  Madame 
rose  and  drew  up  the  shades.  Then  she  went  into 
her  room  and  made  herself  charming  again,  Madame 
was  one  who  would  have  dressed  for  herself  had  she 
lived  upon  an  oasis  in  the  desert.  One  could  not  im- 
agine her  without  a  hand-glass  and  powder  puff. 
When  these  articles  and  others  as  necessary  had  been 
put  to  good  use,  she  returned  to  the  salon  and  opened 
her  desk. 

If  the  whereabouts  of  Alixe  Avere  unknown  to  most 
persons  it  was  not  a  secret  from  her  brother-in-law, 
who,  however,  when  Madame  wrote,  saying,  "Of 
course  you  know  where  she  is,  Valery  dear;  you 
always  encourage  her,"  answered,  "Know  where 
Alixe  is?  How  should  I  know?  "  Now  Madame  sat 
down  to  bombard  Valery  with  more  arguments, 
making  eight  pages  of  a  single  sheet.  These  intricate 
crossings  tried  the  good  eyes  and  sweet  temper  of  the 
Kastaquouere. 

"  I  am  a  good  Catholic,  Valery  dear,  as  you  know, 
a  very  devoted  daughter  of  the  church ;  but  if  Alixe 
is,  as  I  have  reason  to  believe,  somewhere  in  hiding, 
where  the  dear  Archbishop  has  access  to  her,  she  may 
after  all  join  my  faith,  and  then  all  that  fine  property 
will  go  to  the  church.  I  do  not  know  exactly  what 
the  French  laws  are  with  regard  to  a  wife's  property 
and  her  husband's  rights  in  it;  but  dearly  as  I  love 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  293 

Bruno,  I  really  think  he  has  had  all  that  he  should 
have,  and  as  you  once  said  to  me,  it  is  only  throwing 
good  money  after  bad.  If  the  dear  Archbishop 
knows  where  Alixe  is,  and  Bruno  should  die  suddenly, 
I  fear  that  before  we  could  prevent  it,  she  would  enter 
a  convent,  and  give  all  her  money  to  the  church. 
This  I  highly  approve  of  in  some  cases,  but  not  in 
others,  such  as  ours,  for  instance,  where  my  property 
is  so  very  small,  and  I  cannot  live  decently  unless  I 
have  a  home  with  Alixe." 

Although  Valery  had  propounded  to  his  young 
mother-in-law  the  question  as  to  how  he  should  know 
where  Alixe  might  be,  he,  on  that  very  day,  addressed 
an  envelope  to  her  in  his  big  bold  hand.  It  had  been 
brought  to  him  by  a  very  young  woman  for  correc- 
tion, a  young  woman  who  like  too  many  children  of  her 
nationality  had  been  educated  in  Paris  and  knew  little 
or  nothing  of  the  spelling  of  her  native  tongue.  He 
had  read  it  while  sipping  his  coffee  in  the  garden  and 
had  laughed  unrestrainedly  over  its  length  and  strange 
sentences.  He  had  said  to  Gartha,  "  I  couldn't  make 
it  any  better;  really  I  couldn't,  Gartha.  I  should 
only  spoil  it.     Let  it  go  as  it  is." 

Gartha  put  on  a  conscious  air  and  plumed  herself 
as  she  had  seen  the  young  peacocks  do  at  Countess 
Blandina's. 

"I  am  of  an  education  somewhat  high,"  said  Gar- 
tha. "  I  can  speak  four  of  the  languages,  moi !  The 
English,  that  comes  the  first,  being  the  one  that  is 
worth  speaking.  The  argot  of  the  Quartier  Latin 
comes  the  next.  Marie  Monrouge,  her  cousin  is  an 
artist-peintre.  He  teached  it.  Expressions  of  the 
sort  '  espece  de  type,'  and  '  sale  Prusse, '  and  '  sale 
Anglais ; '  though  I,  who  love  the  English,  would  never 


294  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

say  sucli  a  thing.  After  tlie  argot  of  the  Quartier 
will  come  the  American,  because  that  is  the  tongue  of 
John  Quentin  and  Harry  Ware,  and  apres  " — one  al- 
most expected  to  hear  the  words  "the  deluge" — ■ 
"apres  comes  that  French.  That  is  no  tongue  for 
the  people  of  our  condition,  only  for  poodles  and 
Weasels," 

Gartha  with  much  appearance  of  conscious  pride 
had  marcjied  with  head  held  high  to  Bridget  McCune, 
the  maid  whom  Valery  had  taken  for  her  in  his  father's 
household,  and  said : 

"  Please  post  my  letter,  dear  Bridget  McCune.  My 
father  says  he  could  not  improve  it.  In  it  I  speak 
very  kindly  of  you."  The  letter  was  dated  "Bally- 
rogan,  Ireland,"  and  ran: 

"  My  devoted  Aleeks  i  am  in  sore  distress  jay  per- 
due mon  bague  with  which  missue  jon  kenton  seal  our 
love,  it  is  a  ill  omen  it  belonged  to  the  ded,  and  if  your 
ring  belong  to  the  ded  she  come  wen  the  night  is  dark 
as  pich  and  in  thunder  tones  say  where  is  the  ring  i 
trusted  to  my  brither  elsie  macdonal  say  that  is  the 
spelling  of  it  elsio  macdonal  is  sketch,  i  think  the 
weasal  stoled  it  for  of  all  the  poor  things  minus  virtu 
the  weasel  is  she  i  might  say  it.  i  ask  my  father 
what  gender  virtu  is  and  he  says  nooter  because  virtu 
belongs  to  no  sex.  i  here  that  jon  kenton  is  stoping 
with  lord  eldin  and  if  he  is  he  cant  be  far  seprated 
from  me  his  only  love  they  tell  me  that  la  manche 
seprate  us  not  la  manche  of  engeland  but  la  manche 
of  Ireland  they  endeavors  to  make  me  speak  the  frinch 
here  but  i  tell  them  it  is  a  vile  tongue  and  should  not 
be  spoke  by  ladies  of  good  blood,  i  am  getting  to  like 
jon  macdonal  quite  well  and  when  i  ask  him  if  he 
likes  me  he  says  nat  verra  mooch  which  is  the  ways 
of  men  so  no  more  from  your  derely  loved  Gartha. 
P.S.     i  ask  bridget  mccune  how  to  end  it  an  she  says 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  295 

snap  it  short  aff  begorra.  mais  il  faut  que  je  impress 
upon  you  the  lost  of  that  bague  you  may  say  to  the 
weasel  that  i  will  send  her  a  formal  invite  to  the  weed- 
ing but  it  is  against  the  lore  of  the  kenton  famly  to 
make  bains  pieds  iu  her  sauser  and  my  husband  would 
be  disgusted  and  go  for  her  tooth  and  nail  bridget 
macune  says  that  is  what  she  would  do  with  thim 
f rinch  begorra  excuse  the  irish  valery  spelled  the  frinch 
for  me  he  shouted  it  in  from  the  garden — so  b-a-i-n-s 
p-i-e-d-s — so  i  hope  jon  kenton  will  prove  to  be  more 
of  a  gentleman  than  my  farther  and  that  our  sons 
may  be  like  him  that  is  all  that  i  ask  of  god  i  would 
ask  it  of  the  Sainte  Vierge,  but  you  know  how  the 
wimmen  acts  wen  you  v/ant  anything,  your  very  be- 
loved and  adored  Gartha  p.  s.  i  have  ast  briget  macune 
and  elsie  macdonal  to  be  my  bridesmaids,  i  ast  cook 
out  of  politues  briget  and  elsie  has  ascepted  but  cath- 
ern  moriarty  says  she  has  a  sister  in  service  in  amer- 
iky  and  she  might  mite  be  laundress  in  my  husbans 
famlj"^  and  it  woud  cry  shame  to  her  i  weeped  wen  she 
refuse  but  she  comfit  me  with  some  cake  wich  was 
most  delicius  and  give  mo  a  great  pane,  it  fell,  the 
hevvy  streke  with  sugar  is  what  i  have  engage  her  to 
make  for  my  weeding  i  love  dere  briget  macune  and  i 
hope  that  jon  kentin  will  love  her  in  equal  proportion 
i  mite  have  married  his  emnunce  but  i  am  as  you 
know  devote  for  children,  and  wen  i  ask  lord  eldin  if 
archbishops  has  fine  stalwart  sons  he  says  none  to 
speak  of.  it  was  a  grief  to  me  so  no  more  from  your 
admired  and  much  prized  Gartha  p  s  the  cook  showed 
me  how  to  end  N'oubliez  pas  la  bague.  valery  screamed 
that  in  from  the  garden  the  speling,  i  mean  i  am  re- 
joy  ce  jon  kentin  is  not  here  to  be  shock." 

"I  couldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't  read  it  my- 
self," said  Valery  to  Gartha  in  speaking  of  her  letter. 
"  The  sentiments  alone  are  well  worth  the  price  of  ad- 
mission." 


296  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"I  suppose  you  mean  worth  the  stamps,  Valery," 
said  Gartha. 

Valery  wrote  a  long  letter  also  to  his  sister-in-law, 
which  went  in  the  same  mail  with  Gartha's. 

"  The  poor  little  tad  has  been  struggling  with  that 
screed  for  three  days,"  he  said.  "I  see  that  you  are 
right,  and  that  the  child  should  go  to  a  good  English 
school  or  she  will  never  learn  to  write  a  decent  Eng- 
lish letter.  She  writes  French  fairly  well,  but  her 
English  is  beyond  criticism.  No  words  will  do  it 
justice.  Let  me  know  when  your  interdict  is  abro- 
gated, the  embargo  raised.  Mamasha  begs  me  to 
tell  where  you  are.  She  seems  to  be  afraid  that  you 
will  leave  or  give  some  money  to  the  church.  Cer- 
tainly, my  dear  Alixe,  you  cannot  expect  those  good 
women  to  take  you  in  and  give  you  simply  what  will 
pay  for  your  living.  I  know  your  generosity,  but 
you  must  do  as  your  heart  prompts  you  to  do,  and 
not  as  Mamasha  wishes  in  this  matter.  If  she  is  go- 
ing to  marrj"  Eldon,  she  will  have  gold  and  to  spare. " 
Valery  did  not  add  that  he  had  sent  Madame  a  very 
substantial  check  a  few  days  before,  that  she  might 
not  be  hampered  in  getting  her  wedding  outfit. 

There  came  a  second  draft  to  Madame.  It  was  for 
a  large  sum,  much  larger  than  that  usually  spent  for 
a  trousseau.  It  was  enclosed  within  a  letter  which  was 
undated,  but  the  envelope  bore  the  Paris  postmark. 

"  My  dear  Mamasha, "  it  ran,  "  I  know  how  hard  it 
is  to  get  a  trousseau  with  very  little  money.  I  know 
what  difficulty  you  had  in  getting  mine,  I  send  you 
what  I  think  will  make  you  feel  comfortable,  and  I 
hope  that  it  will  make  you  happy.  I  hope  that  you 
and  Lord  Eldon  will  spend  your  honeymoon  at  the 
Abbey.     I  have  written  Charles  that  he  is  to  receive 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  297 

orders  from  you,  exactly  as  if  they  were  from  me.  If 
Bruno  is  there,  or  comes  back,  you  will  of  course  be 
glad  to  have  him  live  in  the  chalet  as  usual.  The 
chateau  will  be  large  enough  for  you,  and  if  you  wish 
to  ask  a  house  party  a  little  later  on,  pray  do  so.  I 
shall  not  be  with  you,  but  I  do  truly  wish  you  every 
happiness.  Aldle." 


xxxm. 

QuENTiN  remained  in  Paris,  For  what  lie  hardly 
knew.  He  could  find  the  x4.rclibishop,  for  no  one  was 
more  easily  found,  but  Le  had  no  wish  to  pursue 
Alixe ;  and  further  than  that,  he  had  no  right  to  do 
so.  He  walked  often,  however,  in  the  quarter  where 
he  knew  that  the  Archbishop  lived ;  and  one  day  was 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  him  on  foot.  The  genial 
smile  was  as  kindly  as  ever,  the  friendly  hand  as 
openly  outstretched. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Quentin,  and  where  have  you  come 
from?  " 

"I  have  been  in  England,  at  Eldon  Towers,"  said 
Quentin,  "  but  I  heard  some  news  which  brought  me 
back  to  Paris." 

"Not  bad  news,  I  hope."  The  Archbishop  looked 
at  him  keenly. 

"I  hardly  know,"  said  Quentin.  "Sometimes  I 
think  it  is  very  bad  news,  again  I  think  it  may  prove 
to  be  good.     I  wish  that  I  had  some  one  to  tell  me." 

The  Archbishop  smiled  at  the  young  man  in  a 
friendly  way. 

"  Were  you  a  good  son  of  the  Church,  Mr.  Quentin, 
you  would  come  to  me  perhaps  and  let  me  help  you; 
but  of  course  as  you  do  not  belong  to  us,  I  can  hardly 
suggest  that." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  do, "  said  Quentin,  looking 
irresolutely  at  the  old  man  and  then  on  the  ground. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  299 

The  Archbishop  gave  his  hand,  which  he  had  not 
released,  a  friendly  pressure, 

"When  you  want  a  friend,  Mr.  Quentin,"  he  said, 
■'don't  think  of  religious  differences.  Just  come  to 
me  as  you  would  have  gone  to  your  own  father  for 
help  in  trouble." 

As  Quentin  walked  away  his  mind  was  in  a  tumult 
with  conflicting  thoughts.  He  was  so  miserable  that 
he  took  no  note  of  the  path  which  he  traversed,  but 
walked  on,  and  suddenly  became  conscious  that  he 
was  again  near  the  gate  from  which  the  Archbishop 
had  emerged.  The  walls  of  the  enclosure  rose  high. 
He  saw  that  trees  grew  within,  and  he  perceived  that 
the  gray  walls  of  a  great  building  showed  faintly 
through  them. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  arch  over  the  closed  gate 
and  saw  that  the  religious  emblem  of  the  cross  of 
Christ  was  placed  above  it.  So  this  was  some  holy 
retreat ;  he  might  have  known  it.  He  walked  around 
the  entire  square,  but  saw  no  place  where  the  privacy 
and  seclusion  of  the  spot  seemed  broken.  It  was  as  a 
closed  book,  whose  leaves  he  might  not  cut.  As  he 
proceeded  on  his  way  he  saw  across  the  street  hanging 
upon  the  tloor  of  a  greut  building  the  sign,  "  Apparte- 
ments  a  louer."  A  sudden  thought  seized  him.  Ha 
entered  the  shaded  stone  entrance,  and  asked  to  see 
the  apartments.  They  were  au  premier  and  au  sec- 
ond, if  Monsieur  would  take  the  trouble  to  mount. 

"  And  what  is  there  en  face?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"That  is  the  convent  of ,"  mentioning  a  saint 

whose  name  was  not  unfamiliar  to  Quentin. 

Ho  examined  the  rooms  critically,  asking  questions 
the  while.  "  Is  it  a  convent  where  the  sisters  take 
people  from  the  outside  world?"  he  asked. 


300  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Oh,  yes,  Monsieur,  and  all  those  whom  they  take 
lodge  on  this  side.  The  other  side  is  given  over  to 
the  Keligious.  But  they  will  not  disturb  Monsieur. 
As  Monsieur  perceives  there  is  but  little  of  the  garden 
that  can  be  seen."  Quentin's  heart  gave  a  great  leap. 
He  looked  out  of  all  the  windows  on  both  the  first 
and  second  floors,  and  finding  that  a  little  corner  of 
the  convent  garden  was  open  to  view  from  the  second 
story  apartment,  he  engaged  it  for  a  month,  with  the 
privilege  of  renewal  if  it  pleased  him. 

And  now  began  for  Quentin  restless  days  and  fever- 
ish nights.  He  went  to  bed  or  out  into  the  streets 
only  when  it  grew  so  dark  that  he  could  discern 
nothing  more  in  the  garden.  He  was  up  with  the 
dawn  watching  to  see  who  should  come  there.  Some- 
times he  saw  some  children  playing  in  the  garden, 
watched  by  pleasant-faced  sisters ;  sometimes  he  saw 
the  sisters  walking  there  by  threes ;  but  he  never  saw 
the  form  which  he  sought.  After  he  had  lived  in  his 
rooms  for  three  weeks,  he  again  met  the  Archbishop. 
This  time  he  was  entering  the  gate  of  the  convent. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Quentin !  Again  in  this  quarter?  "  He 
fancied  the  tone  was  somewhat  suspicious.  "  Are  you 
living  over  here  then?  " 

"I  often  walk  here,"  said  Quentin.  *'I  am  a  great 
walker,  you  know.  My  hotel  is  on  the  other  side." 
They  parted,  the  Archbishop  entering  the  gate,  and 
Quentin  walked  on.  What  he  had  told  the  Arch- 
bishop was  literally  true,  for  he  had  not  vacated  his 
rooms  at  the  hotel  where  he  usually  stayed  when  in 
Paris.  There  his  letters  came  to  him,  and  at  night, 
when  there  was  no  more  hope  of  seeing  into  the  con- 
vent garden,  he  went  there,  or  to  his  club,  or  took  a 
spin  in  the  Bois  in  an  automobile,   but  always  re- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  301 

turned  to  sleep,  and  arise  witli  the  dawn.  He  fancied 
sometimes  that  the  very  tall  nun  who  walked  in  the 
garden  might  be  Alixe.  He  wondered  if  she  had  de- 
termined to  take  up  the  conventual  life.  The  idea 
drove  him  mad,  and  yet  what  had  he  to  say  as  to  the 
decision  of  another  man's  wife  to  take  holy  vows. 
He  wondered  whether  the  Archbishop  would  consent 
to  receive  a  married  woman  into  the  conventual  life ; 
whether  such  separations  were  sanctioned  by  the 
Church.  Possibly  if  Alixe  could  divide  her  fortune, 
St.  Aubin  would  be  willing  to  take  half  of  it  and  allow 
her  to  go  from  him,  to  the  peace  and  rest  which  a  holy 
life  might  bring. 

How  many  times  these  same  thoughts  went  wander- 
ing through  his  brain  he  did  not  try  to  count.  They 
and  their  variations  were  ever  with  him,  subordinated 
only  by  the  one  great  desire  to  meet  Alixe,  just  for  a 
moment,  a  few  moments,  face  to  face.  At  last,  after 
a  month  of  weary  days  and  disturbed  nights,  getting 
no  news  and  seeing  nothing  of  the  old  occupants  of 
the  Abbey,  he  determined  to  call  upon  the  Arch- 
bishop. Procuring  his  address  he  went  to  the  quar- 
ter where  His  Grace's  palace  stood.  When  shown 
into  the  well-closed  house  he  was  all  at  once  aston- 
ished at  his  own  temerity.  He  was  attacked  with  a 
species  of  stage  fright,  so  to  speak.  Now  that  he 
was  here,  his  knees  gave  way  under  him  as  he  mounted 
the  stairs.  What  had  he  come  to  say?  He  asked 
himself  this  and  many  a  similar  question  as  he  was 
shown  into  an  ante-room.  It  seemed  that  it  was  the 
Archbishop's  pleasure  to  see  personally  those  who 
wished  to  see  him,  and  as  Quentin  entered,  he  found 
himself  surrounded  by  several  persons  of  both  sexes. 
One  or  two  shabby  looking  priests  were  there,  one 


302  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

dignified  old  father  of  the  Church,  fat  and  rubi- 
cund, and  three  poorly  dressed  women.  A  lady, 
richly  dressed,  sat  near  the  door.  She  was  tall  and 
slight,  and  Quentin  hoped  at  first  that  it  might  be  her 
whom  he  sought;  but  when,  on  being  asked  by  the 
secretary  to  enter  the  Archbishop's  private  room,  and 
she  rose  and  raised  her  veil,  he  saw  the  face  of  an  old 
gray-haired  woman. 

When  all  those  who  had  arrived  before  him  had 
been  ushered  into  the  Archbishop's  room,  and  left  it 
presumably  by  some  other  door,  for  Quentin  did  not 
see  them  again,  he  was  approached  by  the  young  priest 
who  acted  as  secretary,  and  asked  if  he  wished  to  see 
His  Grace. 

For  answer  he  handed  his  card  to  the  priest,  and 
was  at  once  shown  into  the  library  of  the  Archbishop. 

"Ah !  Mr.  Quentin,  so  you  have  come  to  confess  at 
last?  "  said  His  Grace,  rising  from  his  leather-covered 
chair,  and  laughing  a  little  as  he  did  so. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  have  come  for.  Your 
Grace,"  replied  Quentin.  "I  am  very  unhappy,  and 
I  don't  know  where  else  to  go." 

The  Archbishop  gave  Quentin  one  of  his  rare 
smiles. 

"  They  always  come  to  the  Church,  Mr.  Quentin, 
when  they  are  in  trouble,"  he  said,  "and  She  opens 
her  arms  to  them  as  if  they  had  not  scorned  Her 
while  they  were  in  prosperity." 

"I — I  don't  think  I  want  to  come  into  the  church, 
Your  Grace.  I  have  had  too  Puritan  an  upbringing 
for  that,"  said  Quentin  frankly.  "It  is  you  whom  I 
wish  to  see — you  personally." 

The  Archbishop  looked  solemn. 

"  Dear  sir, "  he  said,  "  do  not  say  that  so  decidedly. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY  303 

Tlie  time  may  come  as  I  have  said.  She  opens  her 
arms  to  all.  Now,  what  is  the  trouble?  Business 
matters?  Those  are  not  always  so  readily  settled. 
Death?  That  is  an  easy  matter  for  the  faithful  sons 
and  daughters  of  the  Church  to  bear.  Come !  Ease 
your  mind.     What  is  it?  " 

The  Archbishop  laid  his  handsome,  well-kept  hand 
upon  Quentin's  arm.  The  episcopal  ring  shone  out 
with  great  brilliancy.  Quentin's  thoughts  flew  back 
to  Gartha  and  her  naive  remark  about  Mamasha  hang- 
ing on  to  the  Archbishop's  hand  and  His  Grace  not 
seeming  to  mind  it.  So  many  had  clung  to  that  hand : 
the  hand  ever  ready  to  help,  the  hand  that  was  per- 
petually outstretched  to  aid.  The  tears  came  to  Quen- 
tin's eyes.  His  gaze  rested  upon  the  ring.  His  lips 
trembled  into  a  nervous  smile,  as  Gartha's  absurd 
words,  the  Archbishop's  unvarying  gentleness  to  one 
who  had  no  claim  upon  him,  and  his  own  troubles 
were  inextricably  mingled  within  his  thoughts. 

The  Archbishop  rose  and  went  to  a  little  glass  cup- 
board. He  took  therefrom  a  delicate  bottle  and  a  gob- 
let of  antique  shape. 

He  poured  a  dark  stream  from  the  bottle. 

"There!  there!  my  friend,"  he  said,  "drink  that! 
It  will  pull  you  together,  as  you  English  say.  Impe- 
rial Tokay  from  the  cellars  of ."  His  Grace  men- 
tioned the  name  of  a  Avell-known  princely  connoisseur, 
not  as  if  he  were  vain  of  the  fact  that  the  present  had 
been  sent  by  him,  but  as  if  he  wished  to  prove  to 
Quentin  that  the  wine  must  be  of  good  quality. 
"You  are  run  down.  You  look  thin,  Mr.  Quentin; 
your  trouble  must  be  great.  Compose  yourself  and 
then  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Was  this  the  confessional  of  which  Quentin's  Purl- 


304  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

tanical  ancestors  had  talked,  and  railed  while  they 
talked?  Was  this  the  box  where  jou  might  confess 
at  one  window,  while  the  priest  was  gazing  out  of  the 
other  at  some  wedding  or  churchly  show? 

Quentin  took  the  glass  and  thirstily  swallowed  the 
wine. 

"You  drink  like  a  starving  man,"  said  His  Grace, 
"  as  if  it  were  meat  and  drink  to  you.  Have  you  been 
fasting  of  late?  " 

"Not  intentionally,"  said  Quentin.  A  flush,  born 
partly  of  the  delicious  sting  of  the  wine,  and  partly 
from  the  feeling  of  repose  which  the  Archbishop's 
presence  always  engendered,  came  over  Quentin's 
face.     He  took  the  seat  which  was  offered  him. 

"I  am  keeping  you  too  long,"  he  said;  "that  1 
know — I  who  have  no  claim.  I  am  not  of  your 
church ;  not  of  your  religion. " 

"  I  have  a  common  brotherhood  with  the  sorrowful," 
said  His  Grace.  "  They  " — with  a  nod  at  the  ante- 
chamber— "  can  wait  for  you  as  you  waited  for  others, 
as  others  must  wait  for  them.  When  the  hours  which 
I  reserve  are  gone,  they  must  depart  and  come  again 
some  other  day.     Well,  now,  what  is  it?  " 

The  Archbishop  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  put 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  together;  he  looked  at  Quentin 
expectantly. 

His  visitor  arose  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  He 
did  not  speak  for  some  moments.  He  swallowed  once 
or  twice,  then  turned  and  looked  at  the  gentle  old 
man  as  if  to  gain  courage. 

"There  is  a  woman,"  he  burst  out. 

His  emotion,  now  that  he  had  really  embarked  on 
his  dread  subject,  mastered  him.  The  Archbishop's 
face  was  calm.     A  smile  seemed  to  underlie  its  sur- 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  305 

face,  a  smile  wliicli  a  properly  polite  sympathy  would 
not  allow  to  break  forth, 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  that, "  he  said.  "  A  man  of 
the  world  would  at  once  have  counselled,  *  Cherchez 
la  femme.'  " 

"If  I  could  but  find  her,"  said  Quentin,  "if  I  could 
but  discover  her  whereabouts !  I  know  that  I  should 
not  bring  tales  of  the  world  to  this  quiet  spot,  to  this 
holy  enclosure." 

The  Archbishop  had  been  regarding  him  calmly, 
waiting  patiently  for  him  to  finish. 

"  And  what  else  should  you  bring  if  not  tales  of  the 
world?  Do  we  not  live  in  the  world?  Are  we  not 
here  because  of  the  sorrows  of  the  world?  If  it  were 
not  for  that  world  outside  there,  beyond  the  gates,  of 
what  use  should  we  be?  As  it  is,  we  are  here  to 
strive  and  struggle  and  wrestle " 

The  Archbishop  ceased  suddenly.  His  tone,  which 
had  become  somewhat  exalted  for  him,  was  lowered. 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Quentin,"  he  said. 

"  But  tales  like  mine  are  so  much  out  of  your  line. 
They  are " 

The  Archbishop  rested  his  elbow  on  the  table  and 
his  head  against  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  Unfortu- 
nately," he  said,  "such  tales  are  not  rare.  We  hear 
more  of  them  perhaps  than  of  any  other." 

Quentin  had  been  pacing  the  room  with  nervous 
strides.  Now  he  suddenly'  halted,  and  absently  fin- 
gered the  fringe  of  the  curtain.  "  I  do  not  know  why 
I  came  here,"  he  said.  "I  simply  couldn't  help  it. 
But  now  that  I  am  here,  what  can  you  do  for  me? 
What  can  any  one  do  for  me?  You  can  tell  me  per- 
haps where  this  woman  may  be  found ;  but  when  I 
have  found  her,  of  what  avail?  " 
20 


306  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  I  can  tell  you  where  this  woman  can  be  found?  " 
The  Archbishop  sat  upright  and  looked  searchingly 
at  Quentin.  "I?  How  should  I  know  if  you  do  not 
know  yourself?  " 

"  I  think  that  you  do  know,  Your  Grace.  Believe 
me,  I  have  not  come  here  for  the  sake  of  anything  but 
that  of  relieving  my  own  mind,  my  own  heart  and 
soul.  I  think  that  you  do  know.  May  I  ask  Your 
Grace  to  tell  me?  " 

"Not  until  I  know  more  about  it."  The  Arch- 
bishop surveyed  his  questioner  calmly. 

"  Not  until  I  know  more  about  it, "  he  said  again. 
"Remember,  you  have  told  me  nothing  as  yet,  Mr. 
Quentin ;  but  from  what  I  gather  this  is  not  a  matter 
in  which  I  should  interest  myself." 

"I  was  afraid  of  this,"  said  Quentin.  "I  told  you 
that  mine  is  an  utterly  hopeless  case."  He  stood  de- 
jectedly against  the  background  of  the  subdued  light 
of  the  window,  his  hands  hanging  at  his  sides.  He 
went  on  hurriedly.  "  This  woman  has  no  thought  of 
me.     I  have  no  right  to  think  of  her." 

"  You  have  learned  something  when  you  have  got 
thus  far,"  said  the  Archbishop  in  a  dispassionate 
tone. 

"  I  have  hardly  more  than  touched  her  hand — not 
as  often  as  I  have  touched  your  own.  I  have  said  no 
word  of  love  to  her,  hardly  of  friendship.  Why 
should  you  speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  committing  the 
unpardonable  sin.  Your  Grace?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Quentin.  I  might  have 
known  that  you  would  do  nothing  unworthy."  He 
broke  off.  "But  why  pursue  the  lady  if  she  can 
never  be  anything  to  you?  And  why  come  to  me? 
Is  she  in  my  keeping?    Do  I  know  this  lady?     When 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  307 

I  told  you  to  come  if  you  were  in  trouble,  I  did  not 
anticipate — I  did  not  dream " 

"  I  liardly  know  what  I  wish,  what  I  am  doing ;  but 
one  thing  I  must  know,  and  that  is  whether  she  is 
happy,  whether  she  is  at  peace." 

The  Archbishop  sat  quiet  for  the  space  of  a  minute. 
Before  his  mind's  eye  were  passing  the  faces,  so  far 
as  he  could  remember  them,  of  the  young  novices 
who  had  been  lately  received  into  the  church.  Their 
youthful  charms  did  not  appeal  to  him  except  as  addi- 
tions to  the  lambfold,  as  was  right,  and  their  faces 
had  not  remained  in  his  memory.  Then  he  began  to 
speak. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  whom  you  can  mean.  There  was 
the  young  daughter  of  the  de  Valle  family ;  she  has 
taken  the  veil.  There  was  Mademoiselle  la  Grange, 
but  I  think  j'ou  did  not  know  her." 

"I  know  none  of  these  people,"  said  Quentin. 
"The  woman  whom  I  seek  is  married." 

The  Archbishop  arose  and  stood,  one  hand  on  the 
table.  "  A  woman  who  is  married,  you  say  ?  And  you 
come  to  ask  me,  a  priest  of  the  Church,  to  aid  you  in 
pursuing  this  woman  who  is  not,  who  never  can  be, 
anything  to  you?  I  had  not  thought  it  of  you,  Mr. 
Quentin." 

"  It  is  because  I  met  you  both  under  the  same  roof 
that  I  come  to  you." 

"  Vie  know  so  few  of  the  same  persons,  Mr.  Quen- 
tin. We  were  a  very  short  time  in  the  country  to- 
gether, and  there  were  only  those  English  and  Amer- 
ican ladies,  and  the  Baroness  and  Mademoiselle,  be- 
sides the  family." 

"  It  is  of  one  of  that  family  I " 

"  Oh,  the  dear  little  Madame ! "  smiled  the  Arch- 


308  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

bishop  witli  a  slight  tremor  of  the  lid.  "Why  should 
you  have  made  such  a  mystery  about  her?  Her  for- 
mer marriage — marriages — need  be  no  barrier.  She 
is  living  in —    I  can  easily  give  you  her  address." 

"I  know  where  Madame  lives,"  said  Quentin;  "I 
have  been  to  see  her.  It  is — it  is  of  her  daughter  I 
would  ask." 

At  once  a  change  passed  over  the  Archbishop's  face. 
It  was  almost  imperceptible.  The  smile  remained, 
but  it  was  as  if  frozen  into  a  marble  mask.  He  took 
a  paper-knife  from  the  table  and  bent  it  nearly  double. 
Then  he  seated  himself,  turned  half  way  in  his  chair, 
leaned  back,  pressed  his  lids  so  closely  together  that 
the  color  of  the  ball  was  hardly  discernible  and  showed 
only  in  a  sharp  glint  of  light.  He  thrust  out  his  chin, 
turned  his  face  sidewise  toward  Quentin,  and  said  in 
a  very  slow  tone,  with  marked  emphasis : 

"And  what  has  a  young  man,  an  American,  one  who 
hardly  knows  her,  to  do  with  this  married  woman,  to 
do  with  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia?  " 

Quentin  sat  silent.  He  had  received  a  moral 
chill. 

"You  do  not  answer,"  said  the  Archbishop.  The 
words  came  forth  from  his  thin  lips  with  a  slow  hiss- 
ing sound.  The  sympathy  between  the  two  seemed 
to  have  been  extinguished. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  answer,"  said  Quentin.  "  There 
is  no  answer.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  her,  God 
knows." 

"  And  you  would,  nevertheless,  force  yourself  on  this 
lady?" 

"  God  forbid ! "  said  Quentin. 

"  The  subject  does  not  call  for  so  much  religious 
fervor,"  said  the  Archbishop  dryly,  in  a  tone  which 


I 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  309 

was  a  mixture  of  plain  statement  and  sarcasm. 
"  Then  pray  what  is  your  errand  here?  " 

"I  have  told  you,"  said  Quentin.  "If  you  know 
where  she  is,  will  you  tell  me  what  I  ask,  whether 
she  is  happy?" 

"I — I — hope  so,"  said  His  Grace.  "If  she  is  not, 
she  soon  will  be." 

"  Oh,  my  God !    Have  you  inveigled  her,  have  you 

persuaded  her Is  she  going  to  take  the  vows 

which  will  shut  her  forever  away  from  the  world, 
which  will " 

"I  have  inveigled  her,  as  you  say,  into  nothing, 
my  friend.  She  came,  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,  to  me 
voluntarily.  Why,  I  cannot  tell  you.  What  she  said 
to  me,  it  is  needless  to  inform  you,  I  cannot  disclose. 
And  why  should  I  to — to  you?  I  cannot  tell  what 
her  future  may  be.  We  do  not  know;  but  rest  as- 
sured, Mr.  Quentin,  that  I  am  as  anxious  for  her 
peace  of  mind  as  you  can  be ;  rest  assured  that  I,  who 
have  known  this  dear  child  almost  all  her  life,  am  as 
anxious  for  her  earthly  happiness  as  you,  an  utter 
stranger,  can  be.  I  may  tell  you  that  I  am  caring  for 
her  now,  and  when  I  tell  you  that  she  has  asked  that 
I  will  not  reveal  her  whereabouts  to  Madame  Petrof- 
sky,  I  am  sure  that  you  will  respect  that  wish  as  I  do." 

"  Can  you  doubt  it?  "  asked  Quentin.  "  May  I  ask 
you  one  thing,  Your  Grace?  " 

"You  may  ask  me  many  things,  Mr.  Quentin.  I 
am  asked  many  a  thing  that  I  cannot  answer.  I  re- 
ceive many  requests  that  I  cannot  grant." 

"  Will  you  ask  Al — ,  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,  if  she 
will  see  me?  I  know  that  I  have  no  right,"  he  fal- 
tered. "  I  know  that  she  is  not,  never  can  be,  any- 
thing to  me ;  but  if  I  may  see  her  once — I  do  not  ask 


310  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

to  speak  to  her.  If  you  will  tell  me  if  she  is  happy, 
whether  what  happened  at— at  the  Abbey  has  hurt 
her  so  that  she  is  no  more  in  love  with  life — if  you 
will  tell  me " 

"Mr.  Quentin,"  said  the  Archbishop,  "I  suppose 
you  think  that  we  priests  have  no  sympathy  because 
we  have  no  feeling.     Ah,  there  is  your  mistake.     Just 

because  our  calling  shuts  us  away   from "     He 

broke  off  and  pressed  his  lips  together. 

"  Then  there  is  hope  of  my  seeing  her  ?  "  burst  in 
Quentin  impetuously. 

"Certainly,"  said  His  Grace,  "if  she  wishes  to  see 
you,  and  why  not?     She  is  not  a  prisoner." 

"Is  she  in  this  house? " 

"  No,  Mr.  Quentin.  Badly  as  you  think  of  us,  you 
Protestants,  I  may  assure  you  that  I  do  not  harbor 
women  in  my  house.  But  I  shall  see  her,  and  I  will 
give  her  your  message.  I  do  not  know  you  well,  but 
I  do  know  that,  stubborn  little  heretic  though  she  is, 
that  lady's  conduct  must  ever  be  above  reproach." 

Quentin  smiled  joyously  at  the  words,  "  stubborn 
little  heretic."  The  Archbishop  saw  his  mistake  in- 
stantly, and  in  a  calm  voice,  trying  to  repair  the 
breach  in  his  walls,  he  continued :  "  I  am  going  to  see 
her  now.  If  you  will  wait  for  me  until  I  see  the  rest 
of  these  good  people,  you  may  drive  with  me  as  far  as 
I  go  your  way ;  and  when  I  know  myself,  I  will  write 
you  a  line,  telling  you  whether  the  Duchesse  will  see 
you  or  no." 

Quentin,  beside  himself  with  joy,  waited  in  a  small 
reception  room  for  a  half  hour  or  more.  His  heart 
was  beating  tumultuously,  his  head  ringing.  The 
pulsations  of  his  body  kept  time  to  the  words,  "I 
shall  see  her,  I  shall  see  her." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  311 

At  the  end  of  the  half  hour  the  Archbishop  entered 
hurriedly. 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  he  said.     "  I  have  little  time." 

The  carriage  was  standing  at  the  door.  The  Arch- 
bishop gave  an  address  to  the  coachman.  It  was  in  a 
very  different  (piarter  of  Paris  from  that  in  which 
Quentin  had  taken  up  his  abode.  They  drove  for  the 
space  of  ten  minutes  without  speaking.  Finally  they 
drew  up  at  the  gates  of  a  convent.  The  two  men 
alighted. 

"You  must  leave  me  here,  my  friend,"  said  His 
Grace.  "  I  will  communicate  with  you  in  a  day  or 
two.  Let  my  man  take  you  to  the  nearest  cab  stand 
and  return  here  for  me." 

Quentin  surveyed  the  great  wall  with  deep  interest. 
So  that  was  where  Alixe  had  found  refuge !  Of  what 
use  his  long  and  patient  watching  in  the  Latin  Quar- 
ter. He  bowed  to  the  prelate  with  a  new  respect,  and 
was  whirled  away  before  his  old  friend  had  been  swal- 
lowed up  within  the  gates  of  the  conventual  walls. 
He  took  a  cab  and  returned  to  his  hotel.  Of  what 
use  to  seek  those  dreary  rooms  again?  They  were 
filled,  it  is  true,  with  thoughts  of  Alixe,  but  with 
what  sad  ones ;  with  the  remembrance  of  long  hours 
of  watching  and  waiting. 


XXXIV. 

When  His  Grace's  carriage  returned  to  the  convent, 
the  coachman  was  informed  by  the  priest  at  the  gate 
that  the  Archbishop  was  waiting  at  the  entrance  in 
the  next  street.  When  the  carriage  drove  up,  His 
Grace  was  standing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  great 
square,  just  within  the  gate. 

"  Thank  you, "  he  said,  with  his  lovely  smile,  to  the 
holy  women  surrounding  him.  "  I  thank  you,  Sister; 
I  thank  you,  Mother.  Another  time  I  will  stop.  I 
merely  walked  through  to  ask  of  your  well-being." 

The  gate  was  opened  for  him,  and  he  drove  off  with 
hardly  more  than  five  minutes  of  his  time  spent  within 
the  enclosure.  The  carriage  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
convent  which  Quentin  had  been  watching  for  a  month 
past.  When  the  Archbishop  had  been  admitted,  he 
asked  to  see  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia.  It  was  not  long 
before  Alixe  entered  the  Mother  Superior's  parlor. 
She  was  clad  in  black.  Her  dress  was  not  the  conven- 
tual one,  but  the  costume  of  the  outside  world.  She 
smiled  as  she  gave  him  her  hand.  "  You  take  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  about  me.  Your  Grace.  How  good  of 
you  to  come  again." 

"  I  hope  that  you  have  thought  over  well  what  I  have 
said  to  you,  my  daughter,"  said  the  Archbishop. 

"  I  have  thought  over  it,  I  have  prayed  over  it,  Your 
Grace,  but  you  must  give  me  a  little  more  time.     I 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  313 

must  go  back  to  the  Abbey  after  Mamasha  has  left, 
and  think  over  it  there." 

"After  she  has  left?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  offered  her  the  place  for  her  honey- 
moon." 

The  Archbishop's  brow  clouded.  "And  why  back 
to  the  Abbey?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because,  Your  Grace,  my  friend,  the  one  whom  I 
have  lost,  Virginia  Danielli,  has  often  talked  to  me 
there  about  taking  the  vows.  Perhaps  had  she  lived 
we  should  have  taken  them  together.  I  will  never  go 
back  to  my  husband,  to  Bruno,  again ;  on  that  I  am 
determined.  I  do  not  feel  it  to  be  my  duty,  and  I 
do  feel  that,  if  I  spare  him  a  handsome  sum,  he  will 
not  require  it  of  me.  I  could  not,  I  could  not.  Oh, 
Y^'our  Grace,  I  could  not ! "  Alixe  began  to  tremble. 
Her  face  lost  color.  "  I  could  not  bear  what  I  have 
borne,  again.  I — I — do  not  know  what  I  should  do, 
what  it  would  drive  me  to.  Do  not  tell  me  that  it  is 
my  duty  to  return." 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you  anything  now,"  said  His  Grace. 
"I  have  no  right  to  control  you."  He  looked  at  her 
sadly ;  he  saw  that  she  was  still  the  "  stubborn  little 
heretic  "  of  whom  he  had  spoken  to  Quentin,  and  he 
well  knew  that,  should  her  husband  insist  upon  her 
being  restored  to  him,  no  one,  the  Church  least  of  all, 
could  prevent. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,"  said  he.  "Go  back,  my 
daughter,  to  the  spot  where  our  dear  sister  in  the 
church  implored  you  to  join  her  and  us.  Think  of 
her  often.  Go  to  the  places  where  you  sat  together. 
Remember  her  words,  and  when  you  decide,  come 
again  to  me.  And  now,  to  change  the  subject,  I  have 
a  message  for  you  from  a  fi-iend  of  yours." 


314  THE  ABCHBISHOP  AKD  THE  LADY 

Alixe  started  visibly,  and  tlien  regained  her  calm. 

"It  is  not  your  husband,  do  not  be  afraid.  Mr. 
Quentin,  who  was  at  the  Abbey  with  you  all  for  a  time, 
he  it  is  who  wishes  to  see  and  speak  with  you." 

Alixe  said  nothing  for  the  moment.  She  arose  and 
walked  to  the  centre  table,  filled  a  glass  with  water 
and  drank  it,  essayed  once  or  twice  to  speak,  and 
then  said  in  a  faint  voice,  "I  do  not  care  to  see  him." 

"As  you  will,  my  daughter,"  replied  the  Arch- 
bishop, evidently  relieved.  "It  shaU  be  as  you 
say." 

"Why  should  I  be  troubled  with  that  old  life?" 
said  Alixe.  "  I  have  done  with  it.  I  should  like  to 
see  Gartha  and  Valery  once  more  before — — " 

A  beaming  smile  broke  over  the  Archbishop's  face. 
"So  you  have  almost  decided." 

"Almost,"  whispered  Alixe,  "almost!"  And  then 
dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper,  she  said  again, 
"Almost!" 

"We  must  have  a  conference  with  your  husband," 
said  the  Archbishop.  "  We  can  have  it  at  the  Abbey. 
Why  should  you  not  remain  quietly  here  until  the 
wed — the — the — wedding  is  over" — the  Archbishop 
too  seemed  to  feel  disturbed — "and  when  they  are 
away  from  the  Abbey,  go  down  there?  Your  husband 
can  come  with  me,  and  we  will  arrange  matters." 

"I  should  like  to  go  there  once  more,"  said  Alixe. 
"  I  love  the  hills  and  the  birds  and  the  gardens.  I 
should  love  to  go  there  once  more.  I  should  love  to 
sit  in  the  ruins  once  again,  on  that  old  branching 
tree,  as  I  sat — as  I  sat " 

The  Archbishoj)  arose. 

"  Farewell,  then,  my  daughter,  until  I  see  you  again. 
Do  you  get  out  to  take  the  air  as  often  as  you  should?  " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  315 

"I  walk  in  the  garden,"  said  Alixe,  "but  the  leaves 
are  dusty  and  the  path  is  rough." 

"All  paths  in  this  world  are  rough,  my  child,"  said 
the  Archbishop.     "Good-bye." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  for  a  moment,  then  dropped 
it,  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  He  was  nearly 
outside  when  Alixe  followed  swiftly  after  him. 

"Your  Grace,"  she  said,  "Your  Grace,  I — I — have 
— have  changed  my  mind." 

The  Archbishop's  face  clouded  over. 

"  What,  so  quickly  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  have  no  con- 
victions.    You  will  not  enter  the  conventual  life?  " 

"  I  have  not  changed  my  mind  about  that,"  she  an- 
swered, "  for  it  was  never  made  uj).  Not  about  that. 
It  is  about  seeing  Mr.  Quentin.  I  will  see  him  at 
your  house,  if  you  give  me  permission.  I  will  see 
him  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"At  my  house?  "  repeated  the  Archbishop. 

"  Yes,  Your  Grace.  At  your  house,  and  I  beg  that 
you  will  be  present." 

"  You  may  be  very  sure  that  I  will  be  present  if  you 
ask  it,"  said  the  Archbishop,  a  confident  smile  again 
flooding  his  face.  And  as  he  closed  the  outer  door 
he  added :  "  You  may  be  very  sure  that  I  will,  dear 
lady,  in  any  event." 


XXXV. 

At  about  this  time  Mr.  Hilary  Valery,  sometime 
Eastaquouere,  received  the  following  letter.  It  was 
dated  Paris,  and  began  and  ended  as  follows : 

"My  dear  Valery:  I  do  wish  that  you  would  go 
to  the  Abbey  and  see  that  things  are  somewhat  in 
order.  There  is  no  one  there  but  Charles  and  Eugene, 
besides  the  miller  and  Pere  and  Mere  Montrouge, 
and  you  know  what  use  she  is.  Marie  Montrouge  is 
also  at  the  mill,  but  Alixe  took  Nanette  away  with 
her.  So  inconsiderate!  and  only  God  knows  what 
has  become  of  them.  I  really  have  not  the  time  to 
attend  to  matters  at  the  Abbey.  What  with  dress- 
makers and  milliners,  and  having  new  corsets  fitted, 
I  am  worn  to  a  shred.  You  might  take  Gartha  and 
go  over  there,  and  welcome  us  when  we  come.  Have 
a  house  party,  if  you  like;  only  keep  my  suite  of 
rooms  for  us.  It  will  be  delightful  to  be  received  by 
a  large  number  of  gay  people.  I  suppose  the  tenants 
could  not  very  well  welcome  us,  as  the  place  really 
does  not  belong  to  me.  But  there  might  be  some 
demonstration:  white  favors  on  the  horses'  heads; 
wreaths  over  the  road  from  the  beginning  of  the  Abbey 
wall.  Something  just  to  show  that  some  one  takes  a 
little  interest. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  kind  draft.  I  will  try  to  make 
it  do ;  but  you  know  what  Raudnitz  and  Pacquin  are. 
I  do  have  a  difficult  time  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
Even  with  no  cook,  and  no  valet,  and  no  special  maid, 
only  a  little  bonne  a  tout  faire,  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  struggle  along  with  my  limited  means.     You  can 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  317 

take  Mademoiselle  clown  with  you.  She  can  see  to 
Gartha  and  keep  her  from  too  much  roaming  about ; 
she  will  be  delighted.  ['That's  more  than  I  shall 
be,'  growled  Yalery  between  puffs  of  his  pipe.] 

"She  has  been  weeping  every  morning  oyer  my 
gifts,  and  begging  to  go  on  my  wedding  trip  with  me. 
Now,  I  ask  you  if  that  is  fair?  She  says  she  will  go 
in  any  capacity;  but  of  course  that  is  absurd.  It 
would  get  into  the  papers,  and  we  should  be  the  laugh- 
ing stock  of  two  continents.  I  am  really  too  poor  to 
kee])  Mademoiselle  hanging  on.  If  you  want  her  for 
Gartha,  do  take  her ;  otherwise  she  must  seek  some 
other  i)osition.  [Valery  took  care  to  repeat  parts  of 
this  interesting  letter  to  Mademoiselle,  when  he  saw  her 
later.  When  Mademoiselle  heard  them,  she  sniffed 
and  remarked,  'Elle  crie  toujours  famine  sur  un  tas 
deble'.'] 

"Now,  dear  Valery,"  the  letter  continued,  "I  have 
come  to  the  serious  part  of  my  letter.  I  wonder  if 
Alixe  would  lend  me  the  family  jewels.  Not  to  keep, 
you  know;  just  to  wear  at  the  wedding.  I  should 
hate  to  have  Eldon's  family  think  I  was  a  pauper. 
['Which  you  truly  are,  poor  old  Mamasha,'  mur- 
mured Valery  from  clouds  of  smoke.] 

"  If  I  knew  where  Alixe  was,  I  would  write  her  my- 
self. As  you  do  not  appear  very  anxious  to  see  me 
given  away  again,  I  hope  that  you  will  do  the  next 
best  thing  and  go  down  to  the  Abbey  at  once.  The 
wedding  takes  place  two  weeks  from  next  Thursday, 
and  we  should  like  to  go  to  the  Abbey  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. If  you  can  get  word  from  Alixe  (did  you  ever 
know  anything  so  heartless  as  her  concealing  her 
whereabouts  from  me  when  I  have  all  these  things  on 
my  mind?)  ask  her  about  the  diamonds.  I  am  anx- 
ious to  know,  and  believe  me,  ever  my  dear  Valery, 

"  Your  affectionate 

"Annie  Petbofsky." 

"P.S.     If  you  could  supplement  the  check  just  re- 


318  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

ceived  with  one  a  little  larger  it  would  not  be  unac- 
ceptable." 

"  I  will  not  liave  tlie  Weasel, "  said  Gartha.  "  I  will 
have  Marie  Monrouge  or  Nanette,  but  I  will  not  agree 
at  the  Weasel." 

"She  will  have  to  go  there,  poor  old  thing,"  said 
Valery.     "  She  has  nowhere  else  to  go." 

"  I  should  much  prefer  an  English  Miss,"  said  Gar- 
tha. "  Of  all  things  I  should  prefer  an  English  Miss. 
The  Countess  Blandina's  twins  have  an  English  Miss. 
She  plays  the  game  of  tennis  with  them  and  also  the 
game  of  shuttledoor. " 

"  How  would  you  like  the  Baroness?  "  asked  Valery. 

"I  love  the  Baron,"  said  Gartha.  "They  say  he 
sits  in  front  of  Maxim's  and  drinks  his  life  away. 
What  is  it  to  drink  your  life  away  ?  They  say  it  is  a 
green  thing  called  the  absinthe." 

"  How  would  you  like  the  Baron  and  the  Baroness 
too?  "  said  Valery. 

"And  John  Quentin,"  said  Gartha,  "and  Jan  Mac- 
Donal'?" 

"I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't  agree.  Mr.  Quentin 
might  be  jealous  of  Jan  MacDonald." 

"Just  what  I  should  most  like,"  said  Gartha. 

"You  are  a  second  Mamasha,"  said  Valery. 

"Oh,  Valery,  you  make  me  despise  you." 

"  You  are !     You  will  grow  up  exactly  like  her. " 

"I  am  trying  to  mould  myself  on  Alixe,"  said  Gar- 
tha. "John  Quentin  said  the  mould  was  broken. 
What  did  he  mean,  Valery?  At  the  same  time  he 
said  I  could  not  mould  myself  upon  a  better  model. " 

Valery  raised  his  eyebrows  and  gave  a  long  whistle. 
"Quentin,  too?    Ha,  ha!" 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  319 

"Yes,  isn't  it  a  shame?  Oh,  but  a  shame!  And 
she  doesn't  try  at  alh  I  asked  her  not  to  interfere, 
and  she  said  she  would  not.     Ah,  mon  Dieu !  " 

"I  don't  believe  she  has  seen  him  since  you  have," 
said  Valery,  laughing.  "Well,  do  you  think  you 
would  like  to  go  with  the  Weasel?  " 

"Is  it  to  go  with  you?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  The  fact  is,  Gartha,  I'm  a 
doocid  deal  too  good-natured. " 

"And  if  I  do  not  go,  you  will  go  in  every  case?  " 

"Yes,  but  I'll  take  you  through  Paris,  Gartha," 
said  Valery,  warming  to  his  subject,  for  he  had  been 
at  an  Irish  country  place  now  for  one  long  month. 
"I  shall  go  to  the  Louvre,  and  get  some  of  those 
pretty  frocks." 

"Like  the  one  the  Lord  Eldon  remarked  was  a 
dainty  little  robe — —  " 

"  Much  prettier  than  that.  And  I  shall  drive  you 
in  the  Bois,  and  we  will  go  up  in  La  Grande  Roue  do 
Paris,  and  up  in  the  Tour  Eiffel,  and  up  in  all  the  bal- 
loons, and " 

"Your  arguments  are  very  strong,"  said  Gartha, 
"  even  with  the  Weasel  at  the  other  end.  I  think  I  will 
consent." 

So  it  came  about  that  Hilarj^  and  his  little  daugh- 
ter started  one  fine  morning  from  Bally rogan  and, 
duly  travelling  and  stopping  in  Paris,  spending  a  dear, 
delightful  day  with  Alixe  in  a  shopping  tour  for  Gar- 
tha, were  at  the  Abbey  a  week  before  Lord  Eldon  and 
Madame  could  possibly  put  in  an  appearance. 


XXXVI. 

The  day  after  Quentin  parted  from  tlie  Archbisliop 
he  received  a  note  from  the  priestly  young  secretary, 
saying  that  His  Grace  would  be  happy  to  see  Mr. 
Quentin  at  his  house  on  the  following  morning  at 
eleven  o'clock.  Quentin  had  no  idea  what  this  meant 
for  him,  whether  Alixe  had  consented  to  see  him, 
or  whether  the  Archbishop  merely  wished  to  tell  him 
that  she  had  refused  his  request.  With  all  his  preju- 
dice against  the  priests  of  the  Archbishop's  religion, 
he  was  minded  to  believe  that  His  Grace  might  never 
convey  his  wish  to  Alixe,  and  perhaps  would  merel.y 
tell  him  that  she  had  declined  to  see  him.  He  was 
restless  and  felt  as  if  he  were  all  nerves.  He  walked 
over  many  miles  of  the  Paris  streets  that  day,  and 
finally  took  an  automobile  and  had  a  spin  away  to 
St.  Germain,  through  Yersailles  and  the  forest  of 
Marly.  He  ate  his  dinner  on  the  terrace,  and  gazed 
afar  at  the  steeples  of  St.  Denis,  where  the  kings  of 
France  are  buried,  and  remembered  as  he  stood  there 
the  anecdote  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who  would 
never  inhabit  St.  Germain  because  of  that  reminder 
of  death  which  was  ever  in  his  view.  When  it  was  so 
dark  that  he  could  hardly  see  the  road,  he  started 
back  to  Paris.  His  brake  gave  out,  and  he  walked 
almost  all  the  way,  leaving  his  machine  at  a  shop, 
where  he  hac  knocked  up  the  sleepy  proprietor.     He 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  321 

would  not  have  done  so  careless  a  thing  ordinarily, 
but  he  was  living  in  a  dream,  and  such  actions  showed 
him  later  how  widely  he  had  departed  from  his  ordi- 
nary custom.  In  a  dazed  and  wondering  state  he 
reached  his  rooms,  bathed,  ate  some  food,  and  then 
threw  himself  down  to  sleep ;  but  he  was,  notwith- 
standing his  tiresome  night,  early  wide  awake,  dress- 
ing and  looking  at  the  clock  with  every  passing  mo- 
ment. At  last  he  allowed  himself  to  descend  the  stairs 
and  call  for  a  cab.     It  was  ten  minutes  to  eleven. 

Quentin  rang  the  Archbishop's  bell,  and  was  ush- 
ered into  a  different  reception  room  from  the  one 
where  he  had  sat  on  the  last  visit.  He  was  its  only 
occupant.  Almost  at  once  the  young  secretary  came 
in  and  said : 

"This  way,  Monsieur,"  and  led  him  into  the 
library.  The  first  object  that  he  saw  was  a  tall  figure 
standing  by  the  window,  the  figure  of  a  woman.  She 
was  clothed  in  black,  and  wore  a  veil.  She  was  thin- 
ner than  when  he  saw  her  last,  and  had  a  careworn 
look  which  was  new  to  her.  He  advanced,  and  she 
stretched  out  her  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Quentin?  I  am  very  glad  to 
see  you." 

The  tone  was  so  coldly  kind,  and  the  words  so 
commonplace,  that  Quentin  was  conscious  of  a  severe 
feeling  of  disappointment. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Quentin,  how  do  j^ou  do?"  They  were 
His  Grace's  cheery  tones.  There  was  no  closing  of 
the  eyelids  now,  no  sarcasm  in  the  pleasant  voice. 
The  Archbishop  spoke  as  one  who  stands  on  firm 
ground,  as  one  who  is  entrenched  in  a  position  from 
which  nothing  can  dislodge  him. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Quentin ;  be  seated,  Duchesse. 
21 


322  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

It  is  some  time  since  we  three  met  at  the  Abbaye  de 
Bref." 

Alixe  took  the  chair  His  Grace  offered  her,  and 
Quentin  seated  himself  between  the  two.  A  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind  that  this  should  ever  be  his 
position,  could  he  manage  it,  now  and  always,  be- 
tween the  two.  There  would  he  stand  and  there 
would  he  fight  until  he  found  that  she  herself  was 
willingly  fighting  against  him  and  had  firmly  arrayed 
herself  upon  the  other  side. 

"  Have  you  been  there  lately,  Mr.  Quentin?  "  asked 
Alixe,  looking  up  at  him  quickly.  He  was  gazing  at 
the  rope  of  silver  beads  and  the  cross  set  with  ame- 
thysts that  hung  downward  among  the  folds  of  her 
dress.  When  last  he  had  seen  the  symbol  it  was  but 
the  last  gift  of  a  beloved  friend.  It  possessed  a  dif- 
ferent significance  now. 

He  raised  his  eyes  from  the  splendid  ornament. 
He  could  not  but  feel  how  every  accessory  which  this 
woman  possessed,  instead  of  adding  to  her  charm, 
was  itself  made  the  more  attractive  because  worn  by 
her. 

"  No,"  said  Quentin,  "  I  have  been  over  in  England. 
I  saw  Miss  Spencer  at  Eldon  Towers." 

"Ah,  you  have  been  there!  And  how  was  Lady 
Alfred?  And  dear  Lord  Eldon !  I  need  not  ask.  I 
believe  he  is  happy ;  they  are  both  happy,  I  hope, 
Mamasha  and  he.  Shall  you  attend  the  wedding, 
Mr.  Quentin?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  asked.  But  I  am  invited  by  Val- 
ery  to  go  to  the  Abbey  for  a  house  party  soon.  Are 
you  coming?  " 

"No,"  said  Alixe,  "I  have  told  them  that  I  cannot 
come.     I  wish  them  every  happiness,  as  you  must 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  323 

know,  but  I  cannot  mix  with  the  world  again."  The 
Archbishop  sat  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  smiling. 

"How  can  you  leave  the  world?  "  asked  Quentin. 

The  Archbishop  frowned  slightly  and  shifted  his 
position.  He  clasped  his  fingers  together,  resting 
them  under  and  against  his  white  upper  teeth,  and 
fixed  a  level  gaze  on  Quentin. 

"I  think  that  I  shall  be  able  to,"  said  Alixe,  with 
a  bright  look  at  the  Archbishop.  Her  hand  uncon- 
sciously sought  the  cross.  She  held  it  as  she  spoke. 
"  God  and  His  Grace  helping  me.  There  is  one  ob- 
stacle only,  and  we  hope  to  overcome  that,  do  we  not, 
Tour  Grace?  " 

"  We  do,  my  dear  daughter,  we  do. " 

"  And  have  you  so  quickly  changed  your  faith,  the 
faith  of  your  fathers ?  "  asked  Quentin.  "Have  you 
had  time  to  learn  all  their  lessons  by  rote?  " 

The  Archbishop  frowned,  but  the  frown  was  a  se- 
cure one.  He  looked  into  the  face  of  Alixe  as  she 
smiled  back  at  Quentin,  as  if  he  were  certain  what 
lier  argument  would  be.  Her  lip  was  tremulous,  but 
she  spoke  without  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  I  have  learned  nothing  by  rote.  They  have  taught 
me  nothing  except  by  their  example.  I  see  holy  lives 
all  around  me.  All  that  I  crave  is  peace.  His  Grace 
promises  me  peace." 

"Yes,  I  promise  you  peace,"  said  the  Archbishoj), 
"in — in  time." 

"  I  hoped  that  you  would  give  me  your  address  that 
I  might  see  you  sometimes,"  said  Quentin.  "I  have 
taken  rooms  close  to  the  convent  of  St.  Saviour's.  I 
can  look  into  the  little  corner  of  the  garden.  I  thought 
I  might  see  you  there."  Both  Alixe  and  the  Arch- 
bishop had  started  at  these  words.     "  I  knew  that  it 


324  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

was  no  affair  of  mine,  your  going  away  like  this ;  but 
I  feared  that — you  must  pardon  me,  Your  Grace,  I  am 
perhaps  prejudiced — I  was  afraid  that  you  were  being 
coerced  against  your  will." 

"  Oh,  no,  no ! "  said  Alixe.  She  turned  on  him  a 
smile  full  of  confidence  in  her  new  surroundings. 

"  I  found  that  you  were  not  at  that  convent,  because 
the  Archbishop  took  me  to  another  quite  on  the  other 
side  of  Paris,  when  he  went  to  see  you " 

Alixe  raised  her  brows  almost  imperceptibly  at  her 
old  friend.  He  shook  his  head  faintly  at  her,  as  if  to 
say,"  All's  fair  in  war." 

"I  hoped  that  you  would  let  me  see  you  some- 
times," repeated  Quentin  nervously. 

"  What  good  would  that  do,  Mr.  Quentin?  You  and 
I  have  nothing  in  common.  My  husband  is  the  only 
man  to  whom  I  should  go  for  advice  unless  I  appeal 
to  a  father  of  the  Church,  and  my  husband's  permis- 
sion I  hope  to  obtain  ere  long.  That  is  the  only  im- 
pediment to  my  entering  a  sisterhood." 

Quentin  had  risen  and  stood  with  his  arms  folded. 

"The  only  impediment!  "  he  repeated. 

Alixe  arose  and  the  Archbishop  also. 

"And  now  good-by,"  said  Alixe.  "It  is  good-by 
for  all  time."  There  was  the  suspicion  of  a  tear  in 
her  voice.  She  coughed  and  quickly  controlled  her- 
self. "  I  am  fond  of  my  friends,  Mr.  Quentin,  and  I 
connect  you  with  my  dear  Abbey.  I  often  think  of 
my  happy  days  there,  and  of  the  friends  whom  I  met 
there  and  of  the  ones — the  one  I  have  lost.  I  think 
that  you  would  have  been  a  friend  to  me,  too,  could  I 
have  remained  in  the  world;  but,  believe  me,  I  am 
doing  the  best  thing  for  us  all."  Alixe  looked  down- 
ward, ceased  suddenly,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  breast 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  325 

with  an  exclamation  of  dismay.  Quentin,  who  feared 
that  she  was  ill,  sprang  forward,  but  saw  at  once  that 
from  the  folds  of  her  dress  there  hung  a  tiny  chain 
whose  catch  was  loose.  She  was  holding  it  in  her 
fingers,  looking  at  the  hanging  ends. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear?  " 

"I  have  droi)ped  something.  Tour  Grace.  Mr. 
Quentin,  promise  me  you  will  not  move,  promise! 
Dear  Archbishop,  do  not  take  a  step,  I  implore  you. 
You  will  crush  it.  It  is  an  ornament  I  wear  in  mem- 
ory of  a  friend."  Alixe  was  down  on  her  knees 
searching  the  floor. 

"Virginia  Danielli,"  whispered  the  Archbishop  to 
Quentin,  "  a  great  factor  in  her  memory  for  me  and 
against  j-ou ! "  Alixe  was  searching  everywhere, 
groping,  groping.  Slowly  rising  at  last,  she  stood, 
peering  beneath  sofas  and  chairs. 

"  I  will  have  it  found,  and  send  it  to  you,"  said  His 
Grace. 

"  No,  dear  Archbishop,  no !  "  she  answered.  "  I 
must  have  it  before  I  go  away." 

Suddenly  from  a  far  corner  Quentin  perceived  the 
shining  of  a  ray  of  light.  He  started  toward  it,  but  the 
older  man  was  before  him.  Together  they  stooi^ed,  and 
Quentin,  out  of  respect  to  the  Archbishop,  allowed  him 
to  pick  up  the  gem.  As  His  Grace  advanced  toward 
Alixe  she  almost  snatched  the  ring  from  his  hand,  so 
anxious  did  she  seem  to  regain  possession  of  it. 

"You  must  greatly  prize  it,"  said  he;  "allow  me 
to  aid  you  " ;  but  she  had  closed  her  fingers  upon  the 
treasure,  and  was  pushing  it  within  the  palm  of  her 
black  glove. 

"It — it — is  something  of  Gartha's,"  said  Alixe. 
"  She  lost  it  in — in — my  room — one  day. " 


326  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"And  you  are  keeping  it  to  restore  to  her?  " 

"  Yes— if— she— asks  it." 

Alixe  hurriedly  pushed  open  the  door.  "  Good-by, 
dear  Archbishop ;  good-by,  Mr.  Quentin."  Her  trail- 
ing gown  swept  through  the  opening ;  so  swift  was 
her  flight  that  the  door  had  closed  upon  her  before 
the  two  men  could  realize  that  she  was  gone. 

"  Ah,  that  is  so  like  her.  That  is  her  nature.  So 
loving  and  faithful,"  said  the  placid  old  man.  "The 
little  child's  ring!  She  was  wearing  it  around  her 
throat  beneath  her  gown.  You  saw  where  the  chain 
had  escaped  and  hung  loose—"  and  then  breaking 
off—  "  You  see  how  hopeless  it  all  is,  Mr.  Quentin. 
How  little  she  cares  to  take  up  her  earthly  life  again. 
I  think  she  is  dead  to  all  earthly  friendships,  except, 
perhaps,  the  purest  of  loves,  and  that  for  little  Gar- 
tha.  She  intends,  as  you  heard  her  say,  to  come  into 
the  Church  and  enter  a  sisterhood  if  her  husband  will 
give  his  permission.  And  you  see  how  worse  than 
foolish  it  would  be  for  her  to  keep  up  even  a  sem- 
blance of  friendship  with  a  young  man  like  yourself. 
Such  friendships  lead  to  no  good.  You  see  that,  do 
you  not?  " 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Quentin.  His  tone  was  so  joy- 
ous that  the  Archbishop  raised  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment. The  color  had  come  to  the  young  man's  face, 
the  smile  to  his  lip.  There  was  a  light  in  his  eye 
that  had  not  been  there  for  many  a  day.  "  I  see. 
Your  Grace,  I  see,"  he  repeated. 

For  had  he  not  seen  and  recognized  the  lost  charm 
for  which  Alixe  had  searched  so  anxiously?  The 
charm  which  she  had  worn  about  her  neck  close  to  her 
heart,  the  ring  which  he  had  given  Gartha? 

"And  now,  my  young  friend,  good-by.     Give  up 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY  327 

this  foolish  sentiment.  Go  home  and  marry  one  of 
your  estimable  American  girls,  they  are  all  beautiful 
and  they  are  all  rich,  and  do  not  try  to  meddle  with 
foreign  duchesses.  Above  all  things,  do  not  imagine 
for  a  moment  that,  when  once  the  Church  has  her  grasp 
upon  such  a  woman  as  that,  you,  puny  worldling  that 
you  are,  can  change  her  mind." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  goodness,  Your  Grace,"  said 
Quentin.  "You  have  put  new  life  in  me.  And 
whether  that  woman  immures  herself  within  one  of 
your  cloisters  or  no,  M^hether  she  takes  the  veil  or 
returns  to  the  world,  I  shall  ever  be  the  happier  for 
what  has  passed  here  to-day.  I  thank  you.  Good- 
by." 

"That  is  rather  a  serious  quantity  to  reckon  with," 
said  the  Archbishop  as  he  touched  his  bell ;  "  a  very 
stubborn,  determined  character.  But  he  can  do  noth- 
ing; the  fates,  Alixe,  and  I  are  against  him.  Against 
such  a  combination  who  can  stand?"  And  then  to 
his  secretary,  "  Send  in  the  next  visitor." 


xxxYn. 

QUENTIN  returned  to  his  hotel,  his  heart  singing 
for  joy.  He  sat  thinking  deeply  most  of  the  afternoon, 
going  over  and  over  again  in  his  mind  the  scenes  at 
the  Archbishop's.  At  last,  about  four  o'clock,  he  de- 
cided to  go  to  the  apartment  on  the  Eive  Gauche  and 
give  notice  to  the  proprietor  that  after  the  month  was 
up  he  should  not  need  the  rooms.  Why  should  he 
remain  in  that  quarter  of  the  town  if  Alixe  was  far  re- 
moved from  him  in  another?  When  he  arrived,  the 
proprietor  was  not  at  home,  but  Quentin  nevertheless 
went  up  to  his  apartments.  He  did  not  drag  himself 
up  the  circular  stairs  with  slow  and  lagging  step,  but 
sprang  like  a  boy  off  for  a  holiday.  He  unlocked  his 
door  and  went  in.  The  rooms  looked  bright  and 
sunny,  and  evidently  had  been  well  cared  for  during 
the  days  when  he  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  visit 
them.  He  disliked  the  idea  of  giving  them  up,  for 
although  he  felt  certain  that  Alixe  was  in  that  other 
religious  house,  far  removed  from  him  across  the 
river,  still  this  was  the  place  where  he  had  sat  and 
thought  of  her,  dreamed  of  her;  and  everything  in  the 
room  reminded  him  of  her,  for  as  he  had  looked  at 
the  different  objects  about  him,  his  thoughts  had 
ever  been  of  Alixe  in  the  different  phases  in  which  he 
had  seen  her.  Here  was  the  little  white  hat,  a  pen- 
wiper, which  he  had  bought  because  it  reminded  him 
of  the  Russian  hat  which  she  had  always  worn  at  the 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  329 

Abbey.  There  was  a  tiny  print  of  a  cliurcli,  whose 
trees  peered  above  the  ruined  walls,  and  brought  to 
mind  the  place  where  he  had  spent  a  few  blissful 
days.  There,  hanging  opposite  his  couch,  was  the 
picture  cut  from  an  illustrated  paper,  of  a  tall  and 
lovely  woman  dressed  in  black,  a  rope  of  beads  around 
her  waist,  in  her  hand  a  crucifix.  This  vision  was  in 
his  mind's  eye  as  he  pushed  through  the  open  win- 
dow, and  went  out  upon  the  little  balcony.  He 
walked  along  to  the  further  corner,  which  was  screened 
by  fir  trees  and  plants ;  and  looking  over  their  tops 
into  the  garden,  he  saw  the  woman  of  whom  he  was 
thinking.  She  was  sitting  on  a  bench,  her  small 
black  hat  was  on  her  knee.  She  was  looking  at  her 
companion,  whom  Quentin  perceived  at  a  glance  to  be 
the  Archbishop.  He  seemed  to  be  talking  earnestly, 
and  she  was  listening  with  deep  attention. 

Quentin  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from  calling 
across  the  noisy  street,  "  So  you  thought  to  fool  me. 
Your  Grace.  But  I  have  found  you  out ! "  But 
even  had  he  called,  his  voice  could  not  have  carried 
above  the  din  of  the  moving  vehicles ;  and  he  must 
content  himself  with  gazing  and  gazing  upon  the 
pair,  rather  on  the  woman  sitting  in  the  garden  be- 
low. His  Grace  and  Alixe  remained  for  a  quarter 
hour,  and  then  he  rose.  She  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
he  raised  the  other  above  her  head  as  if  in  blessing. 
The  gesture  struck  a  chill  to  Quentin's  heart.  It 
seemed  that  she  must  have  finally  promised  that 
which  the  Archbishop  had  asked  of  her.  Then  they 
turned.  Alixe  picked  up  her  hat,  which  had  fallen 
to  the  ground,  and  he  lost  sight  of  them  beneath  the 
arching  trees  of  the  garden. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  for  Quentin  to 


330  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

awake  from  liis  daze,  run  in  through  the  window, 
seize  his  hat,  fling  out  of  the  room,  and  descend  the 
stairs.  He  sprang  downward  with  boyish  leai)S  and 
jumps.  As  he  came  into  the  street  he  was  surprised 
to  see  how  the  dusk  was  creeping  on.  He  hurried 
along,  hoping  to  meet  the  Archbishop  at  the  convent 
gate.  The  pavement  was  wellnigh  bare  of  pedes- 
trians ;  but  as  he  hastened,  some  one  was  there  ahead 
of  him,  some  one  whose  shabby  black,  so  familiar  and 
hateful  to  his  eye,  told  him  that  it  was  Halle,  the  dis- 
honored priest.  He  was  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the 
street,  his  body  hidden  by  the  angle  of  the  wall,  his 
head  just  peering  around  the  corner.  Danger  to  the 
Archbishop  was  Quentin's  first  thought.  Had  he  not 
been  really  attracted  by  this  delightful  old  prelate, 
still  his  first  thought  would  have  been  to  protect 
him  from  a  man  whom  he  considered  bad  enough  to 
commit  any  dark  deed ;  but  he  was  fond  of  the  Arch- 
bishop, notwithstanding  their  disagreements,  and  he 
was  not  fond  of  Robert  Halle.  He  determined  in  a 
twinkling  to  obstruct  the  priest's  plans  and  warn  the 
Archbishoj).  He  came  up  behind  Halle,  and  walking 
round  in  front  of  him,  he  said,  "Ah,  Father  Halle, 
waiting  to  see  the  Archbishop?  " 

Halle  started  at  the  unexpected  voice  coming  so 
suddenly  out  of  the  dusk,  and  turned  on  Quentiu  with 
a  face  livid  with  either  fear  or  rage,  perhaps  a  combi- 
nation of  both.  His  air  of  surprise  was  natural,  but 
not  the  tone  with  which  he  greeted  the  newcomer. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Quentin,"  he  said,  "I  did  not  expect  to 
see  you  here." 

"No,"  said  Quentin,  "I  don't  suppose  you  did. 
You  know  His  Grace  is  inside,  do  you  not?  " 

"His  Grace?"    Halle  put  on  an  air  of  surprise. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  331 

"Perhaps  it  will  not  be  difficult  for  jou  to  imagine, 
Mr.  Quentin,  that  the  Archbishop,  after  his  injustice 
and  cruelty  to  me,  is  the  last  man  in  all  Paris  whom 
I  wish  to  see." 

"  Be  careful,  then,  how  you  appear  to  wish  to  see 
him,  Mr.  Halle,"  said  Quentin,  and  walked  onward  to 
where  His  Grace  was  just  issuing  from  the  gateway. 
As  he  approached  the  Archbishop,  Halle  slunk  back 
around  the  corner  and  disappeared  in  the  night. 

Quentin  advanced  into  the  ray  of  the  lamp.  At  first 
the  old  man  did  not  recognize  the  younger  one,  but 
as  Quentin  came  out  under  the  faint  light  of  the  lan- 
tern which  hung  above  the  gate,  the  Archbishop 
started. 

"Ha,  Mr.  Quentin!  Again  in  this  quarter?  Now 
tell  me,  I  beg  of  you,  what  is  your  interest  over  here 
on  the  Rive  Gauche?  " 

"  I  told  you  before,  Your  Grace,  but  that  is  not  what 
I  wish  to  speak  of  now.  May  I  get  into  your  car- 
riage with  you  and  ride  a  little  way  ?  " 

The  Archbishop,  unaccustomed  to  so  much  freedom 
from  younger  men,  bowed  coldly  and  entered  his  car- 
riage. "Get  in,  Mr.  Quentin,"  he  said,  courteously 
giving  his  self-invited  guest  the  seat  upon  his  right. 
"  I  can  take  you  but  a  short  distance.  I  must  stop  in 
the  Boulevard  St.  Germain." 

As  the  horses  started  Quentin  turned  to  the  Arch- 
bishop. 

"  Have  you  seen  that  man  Halle  lately.  Your  Grace?" 

"  Halle?  No !  You  mean  the  priest?  I  have  never 
seen  him  since  I  denounced  him.  I  suppose  jon 
met  him  at  the  Abbey.  I  hear  that  he  was  there  and 
that  the  owner  is  very  stubborn  about  receiving  him 
there.     That  is  almost  the  only  topic  on  which  we 


332  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

disagree  at  present.  She  imagines  him  wronged, 
that  circumstances  are  against  him,  that  he  will  be 
able  to  clear  himseK  some  day.  It  was  not  so  much 
the  money  that  he  took,  though  that  was  a  consider- 
able sum;  but  it  was  that  dreadful  deed,  stealing 
from  the  Church.  Why,  Mr.  Quentin,  if  Halle  had 
robbed  us  of  the  vessels  of  the  sacrament  I  should 
hardly  have  been  more  shocked." 

"  I  have  reason  to  think  that  he  has  no  love  for  you. 
Tour  Grace." 

"Of  that  I  am  well  aware,"  said  the  Archbishop 
sadly,  "  but  the  poor  wretch  cannot  harm  me.  My 
position  in  the  matter  and  my  proofs  are  too  well 
known  to  those  in  authority." 

"He  can  do  harm  to  your  person.  Your  Grace. 
That  is  why  I  asked  to  drive  with  you  a  little  way. 
I  had  just  stumbled  upon  him.  He  was  lurking  past 
the  corner  of  the  wall  back  there  in  the  side  street. 
He  was,  I  think,  watching  for  your  exit  from " 

"Oh,  no!  Mr.  Quentin,"  said  the  Archbishop,  smil- 
ing incredulously.  "  Badly  as  I  think  of  him,  I  can- 
not believe  that  a  man  who  has  once  been  a  priest  of 
the  Church  would  stoop  to  commit  such  a  crime.  He 
may  have  wanted  to  speak  to  me.  He  cannot  come  to 
my  house.  My  servants  have  had  orders  not  to  allow 
him  to  enter.  He  had  his  day  and  his  trial.  Per- 
haps he  thought  this  his  only  chance  of  meeting  me. 
Should  he  write  and  make  an  appointment,  I  would  see 
him  once  more,  if  only  to  tell  him  how  hopeless  these 
appeals  are.  I  offered,  in  the  first  place,  to  send  him 
to  a  brotherhood,  one  of  the  remote,  silent  brother- 
hoods, where  no  word  is  spoken.  That  he  would 
have  none  of.  He  wishes'  to  be  again  an  honored 
priest,  officiating  in  a  church  here  in  Paris.     This  I 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  333 

was  not  willing  tliat  lie  should  be,  and  wliat  I  ask  is 
listened  to  by  those  who  decide  such  matters.  I  can- 
not consider  it  a  sincere  repentance,  if  he  is  not  will- 
ing to  wear  out  his  life  in  whatever  part  of  our  Mas- 
ter's work  the  Church  sets  for  him  to  do.  But  that 
he  is  willing  to  play  the  part  of  a  criminal,  I  should 
not  be  willing  to  believe." 

Quentin  could  but  feel  that  the  Archbishop  was 
too  trusting.  His  anxiety  had  been  added  to  by  the 
remembrance  of  Halle's  sudden  hiding  of  his  hand  be- 
hind him.  He  would  have  turned  and  grappled  with 
the  priest  to  discover  what  he  had  thus  secreted,  but 
for  hearing  the  gate  open,  and  wishing  to  warn  the 
Archbishop  before  he  could  drive  away. 

"I  will  not  argue  longer  in  that  direction,  Tour 
Grace, "  said  Quentin ;  "  but  if  you  have  time  to  listen, 
let  me  tell  you  my  experience  with  this  precious 
priest."  Whereupon  he  began  to  relate  to  the  prelate 
all  that  he  knew  of  Halle,  his  endeavor  to  frighten 
him  (Quentin)  out  of  the  chalet  rooms,  the  scene  with 
St.  Aubin  and  the  workman  under  the  wall  at  night, 
and  his  final  encounter  with  Halle  on  the  hilltop. 
The  Archbishop  listened  attentively.  When  Quentin 
had  finished,  he  said,  "  You  should  have  left  the  cha- 
let, I  think,  as  they  requested.  I  cannot  imagine 
why  he  should  be  so  angry  with  you,  even  if  he 
thought  you  were  spying  on  him  and  his  inventions. 
It  sounds  all  very  absurd  and  ridiculous,  not  to  say 
rude  and  ill-bred ;  but  I  can  see  nothing  criminal  in 
it.  I  suppose,  if  they  carry  out  their  tests  satisfac- 
torily, St.  Aubin  will  give  Halle  some  sort  of  percent- 
age  " 

"Fordoing  his  dirty  work  for  him,"  burst  in  Quen- 
tin. 


334  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Isn't  that  a  rather  strong  expression,  Mr.  Quen- 
tin?  "  returned  the  Archbishop  mildly.  "  What  proof 
have  you  that  there  is  any  such  thing  as  what  you 
call  'dirty  work  '  about  their  project?  " 

"Believe  me,  Your  Grace,"  said  Quentin  earnestly, 
"  there  is  something  wrong  when  men  try  to  frighten 
away,  by  such  childish  methods,  a  guest  and*  stranger 
from  the  rooms  which  have  been  assigned  him  by  his 
hostess. " 

The  carriage  drew  up  at  the  pavement.  "  Here  is 
my  destination,"  said  the  Archbishop.  He  sat  for  a 
moment,  his  hand  on  the  catch  of  the  door,  and  turned 
toward  Quentin. 

"  I  thank  you  much,  Mr.  Quentin,  for  your  inten- 
tion to  be  kind.  Whether  you  are  mistaken  in  your 
surmises  or  no,  you  meant  to  do  me  a  favor,  and  be- 
lieve me,  I  fully  appreciate  it.  But  do  not  fear  for 
me.  I  am  not  afraid  of  Kobert  Halle  or  forty  thou- 
sand unfrocked  priests,  if  there  could  be  a  possibility 
of  such  a  number,  which  God  forbid !  Such  cases  as 
his  are  rare.  That  makes  them  perhaps,  in  one  way, 
all  the  more  distressing.  We  are  not  accustomed  to 
such  a  display  of  cupidity,  and  that  is  the  reason — " 
the  Archbishop  released  the  handle  and  turned  toward 
Quentin  still  further — "  that  is  the  reason  why  it  has 
seemed  so  strange.  Halle  had  no  reason  to  steal. 
He  was  provided  for,  as  are  all  of  our  clergy.  He  had 
no  need  of  money.  That  is  the  only  thing  that  I 
cannot  understand  about  the  matter." 

"  The  money  was  wanted  to  put  into  these  so-called 
inventions,"  said  Quentin. 

"  St.  Aubin  had  an  abundance, "  said  the  Archbish- 
op ;  "  that  was  a  most  foolish  thing,  taking  his  wife's 
money  to  waste  on  these  expensive  experiments." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  335 

"Halle  may  have  wished  to  add  his  share,"  said 
Quentin.  "  What  the  cause  may  be,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  that  pair  of  worthies  are  hand  in  glove  in  whatever 
schemes  they  are  concocting.  Of  that  I  saw  enough 
to  feel  sure.  I  really  think  Halle  the  better  man  of 
the  two." 

The  Archbishop  smiled  indulgently. 

"A  little  prejudice,  my  friend,  a  little  prejudice 
perhaps.  We  all  have  our  prejudices,  you  know. 
We  cannot  always  account  for  our  prejudices."  He 
opened  the  door. 

"Let  me  go  with  you  to  the  house  door.  Your 
Grace.* 

The  Archbishop  laid  his  hand  on  Quentin's.  "I 
thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  and  none  the 
less  because  I  know  how  utterly  foolish  are  your  fears 
for  me.  Even  had  Halle  a  plan  to  injure  me,  he  could 
not  have  reached  this  place,  so  remote  from  where  you 
saw  him,  by  this  time.  Do  not  fear  for  me,  my  friend. 
Take  my  carriage  and  drive  to  your  hotel;  then  send 
it  back  for  me.  Good-b}'.  I  did  not  expect  to  see 
you  so  soon  again.  You  know  you  bid  me  an  heroic 
and  an  eternal  farewell  this  morning ;  but  man  pro- 
poses, and  it  is  God  who  disposes  of  us  all  for  His 
own  great  ends." 

With  these  last  words  the  Archbishop  strode  across 
the  pavement,  and  when  he  was  well  within  the  door, 
Quentin  told  the  coachman  where  to  take  him.  All 
the  way  back  to  his  hotel  he  was  thinking  of  the  last 
turn  of  the  Archbishop's  head  and  the  rare  and 
kindly  look  with  which  he  bowed  him  a  farewell. 


xxxvin. 

Valeey  and  Gartha  had  now  been  at  the  Abbey  for 
about  a  week.  Alixe  heard  from  Valery  almost  every 
day.  His  letters  were  full  of  moanings  about  the  des- 
olateness  of  the  place. 

"It  is  no  more  as  it  was,  Alixe,"  he  said.  "I  miss 
you,  and  the  English  girls,  and  Quentin,  and  dear  old 
Mamasha.  She  does  make  a  place  seem  so  comfort- 
able, if  you  only  rub  her  the  right  way.  How  she  does 
purr  and  lick  her  pretty  paws.  I  hope  Eldon  will 
succeed  in  putting  butter  on  them.  I  suspect  the  but- 
ter will  be  in  the  shape  of  a  great  many  handsome 
rings.  I  went  into  Spaulding's  to  buy  Gartha  a  ring, 
in  the  place  of  one  which  she  says  she  lost  in  your 
room  at  the  Abbey,  and  whom  should  I  behold  but 
Mamasha  looking  at  a  necklace.  I  stood  behind  a 
vase,  and  I  heard  the  poor  little  soul  actually  bar- 
gaining for  the  rent  of  it,  just  for  the  wedding !  The 
truth  is,  Alixe,  she  wrote  me  some  time  ago,  asking 
that  I  would  try  to  get  you  to  let  her  wear  the  Duke's 
diamonds  just  for  that  day,  and  I  forgot  all  about  it. 
Where  are  they?  Can  I  get  them  if  I  come  to  Paris? 
If  you  will  give  me  an  order  for  them,  I  will  send 
them  to  her,  first  obtaining  a  paper  signed  by  her  that 
they  are  to  be  returned  in  good  condition  the  day 
after  the  wedding.  Dear  little  Mamasha !  You  know 
she  doesn't  always  know  t\e  difference  between  meum 
and  tuum,  and  the  necklace  wouldn't  either  after  it 
had  been  in  her  possession  for  a  few  decades.  I  sent 
her  another  draft  the  other  day.  Don't  send  any 
more.     She  has  all  that  a  respectable  widow  woman 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  337 

of  her  years  should  require.  Let  Eldon  do  the  rest. 
Keally,  Mamasha  does  press  the  button  somewhat 
often. 

"Gartha  longs  to  see  you.  She  talks  always  of 
that  rare  day  in  Paris  when  you  went  about  shopping 
with  us,  and  we  lunched  at  Armenonville.  Why  can't 
you  be  a  Christian,  Alixe,  give  up  your  fads,  and  come 
here  for  the  house  party?  I'll  send  you  a  telegram 
some  day  that  will  frighten  you  out  of  your  senses, 
and  you  will  come  before  you  know  it. 

"  Gartha' s  love  and  mine. 

"  Ever  yours, 

Valery. 

"P.S. — Mademoiselle  is  here  pulling  as  long  a  face 
as  one  with  a  face  of  the  shape  of  hers  can.  She  says 
that  she  never  expected  to  live  at  the  Abbey  without 
company,  but  is  somewhat  cheered  when  I  tell  her 
that  we  are  to  have  a  regular  house  partj'^  next  week. 
Gartha  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  her.  She  now  calls 
her  the  cacomistle,  having  seen  one  of  those  animals 
in  the  Zoo  in  London.  Gartha  is  down  at  the  mill 
all  day  long,  or  wandering  round  the  place  alone.  I 
cannot  play  lady's  maid  or  child's  nurse  at  my  age. 
The  truth  is,  I'm  too  good-natured  for  this  world. 
When  I'm  dead,  I  should  be  canonized.  Don't  you 
think  it  would  be  somewhat  more  consistent  in  you  to 
come  here  and  look  after  j^our  sister's  child,  than  to 
be  hobnobbing  with  the  Religious  in  Paris,  no  matter 
how  fascinating  the}^  may  be?  Allaire  left  Gartha  to 
you,  you  know,  Alixe;  and  really  I  can  do  nothing 
with  her.  The  only  persons  to  whom  she  will  speak 
are  Marie  and  Pierre  Monrouge.  What  she  does  at 
the  mill  I  don't  know,  but  I  expect  to  hear  that  she 
has  been  ground  up  in  the  wheel,  or  drowned  in  the 
pond,  or  has  fallen  off  the  wall,  or  out  of  the  hay 
loft " 

There  was  a  hurried  knock  at  the  door. 
"Come  in,"  called  Alixe. 

22 


338  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

The  sister  wlio  entered,  one  of  the  serving  sisters, 
had  in  her  hand  a  blue  envelope.  "  A  message,  Ma- 
dame," she  said. 

Alixe  took  the  envelope  from  the  sister,  and  tore  it 
open.  Her  fingers  trembled.  Where  and  from  what 
direction  would  it  strike? 

"Come  at  once,"  it  ran.     "Gartha  is  injured." 

At  first,  every  trace  of  color  left  her  cheek.  She 
went  to  the  nail  where  hung  her  black  bonnet  and 
took  it  down.  She  looked  into  her  purse  to  see  if  she 
had  money,  she  sought  for  her  gloves  and  a  plain 
wrap,  and  then,  suddenly,  she  burst  into  a  merry 
laugh.  The  sister,  who  waited  to  see  if  there  was  any 
answer,  looked  up  astonished.  So  merry  a  laugh  she 
had  not  heard  for  many  a  long  day. 

"  Thank  you,  you  may  go,"  said  Alixe;  "  it  is  noth- 
ing." 

She  picked  up  Valery's  letter  from  where  it  had 
fallen  on  the  floor,  and  with  a  smile  on  her  face  began 
to  read  it  over.  When  she  came  to  the  line  which 
read,  "I'll  send  you  a  telegram  some  day  that  will 
frighten  you  out  of  j^our  senses,"  she  laughed  again. 

"  For  shame,  Valery, "  she  cried  aloud,  "  for  shame, 
to  frighten  me  so  about  the  child." 

She  finished  Valery's  letter,  then  put  her  bonnet 
and  gloves  away.  Then  she  took  her  garden  hat  and 
went  out  to  the  seat  in  the  corner  of  the  enclosure. 

Alixe  sat  there  thinking.  All  that  had  passed  in 
the  last  few  days  came  back  to  her.  Slie  thought 
often  of  Quentin,  of  Ms  wish  that  she  should  be 
happy.  She  remembered,  and  not  for  the  first  time, 
what  he  said  about  taking  an  apartment  in  the  same 
street,  where  he  could  watch  her,  and,  suddenly,  she 
Jooked  upward.     There,  across  the, street  behind  the 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  339 

firs  and  flowers,  stood  Quentin  himself.  He  smiled 
and  waved  his  hand.  She  smiled  back  at  him,  but 
shook  her  head  and  turned  away.  The  sister  was 
coming  toward  her  with  a  second  envelope. 

Alixe  ran  toward  the  messenger  and  tore  open  the 
telegram,  and  this  time  she  did  not  laugh. 

"  Come,  for  God's  sake,"  it  ran.  "  Gartha  has  been 
burned.  She  may  not  live  to  see  you.  She  asks  for 
you  constantly." 

With  hurried  step  Alixe  sought  the  Mother  Supe- 
rior, showed  her  the  message,  explained  the  cause  of 
her  ignoring  the  first  one,  wrote  an  answer  to  be  sent, 
and  was  driving  to  the  station  ten  minutes  after  the 
second  message  had  been  read.  She  was  fortunate  in 
finding  a  train  starting  in  a  few  moments.  She  was 
glad  when  she  found  that  none  had  been  despatched 
since  she  received  the  first  telegram.  Alixe  took  her 
seat,  impatient  and  nervous.  The  two  hours  and  a 
half  seemed  like  two  years.  She  wondered  what  it 
could  be.  Valery  had  said  that  Gartha  was  always  at 
the  mill.  Had  there,  by  chance,  been  a  fire  at  the  mill? 
Had  the  house  burned  down,  and  the  child,  her  sis- 
ter's little  Gartha,  been  crushed  b^^  falling  walls? 
Every  horror  that  anxious  love  could  conjure  up  to  a 
terrified  soul  came  rushing  to  her  distracted  mind. 
When  the  train  stopx)ed  at  some  way  station  and  lost 
time,  Alixe  felt  as  if  she  should  go  mad. 

"What  are  we  stopping  for?  "  she  asked  the  guard. 
"  What  are  all  these  delays?  " 

The  guard,  ignorant,  as  usual,  on  the  smaller  roads 
in  France,  and  a  fatalist,  as  on  most  others,  smiled 
subserviently,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  thrust  the 
palms  of  his  hands  outward,  and  lounged  slowly  down 
the  track. 


340  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

When  at  last  Alixe  reached  the  little  station  in  the 
valley,  she  found  Pierre  Monrouge  awaiting  her. 
She  took  her  seat  in  the  brougham  with  trembling 
limbs. 

"What  is  it,  Pierre  Monrouge?"  she  asked.  "Is 
the  house  burned?  Is  the  mill  burned?  Where  were 
you  all  that  you  could  not  attend  to  Mademoiselle 
Gartha?  " 

"Mademoiselle  Gartha  will  obey  no  one  but  the 
Duchesse,  that  the  Duchesse  knows,"  said  Pierre 
Monrouge  respectfully. 

Ah !  Alixe  knew  but  too  well  that,  had  she  been  with 
Gartha,  the  horror,  whatever  it  was,  might  not  have 
happened.  Here  her  duty  lay — not  back  there  in 
Paris,  away  from  all  she  loved. 

"It  was  in  the  chalet,  Madame,"  and  nothing  more 
could  be  got  out  of  Pierre  Monrouge.  That  the  fire 
had  been  in  the  chalet  was  very  plain  to  Alixe,  for  as 
they  passed  it  by,  she  saw  that  the  outer  walls  had 
partly  fallen  in,  and  that  the  smoking  bricks  lay  upon 
the  road.  The  horses  neighed  and  snorted,  but  the 
workmen  who  were  clearing  away  the  debris  seized 
the  bridle  and  led  them  clear,  and  Alixe  was  at  the 
gate. 

Valery  met  her  as  it  opened. 

"  Where  is  she?  "  asked  Alixe. 

"  In  your  room.    She  would  be  taken  nowhere  else. " 

Alixe  flew  across  the  terrace,  through  the  salon,  and 
up  the  stairs.  She  waited  at  the  door  of  her  chamber, 
gathering  courage  to  enter. 

"I  heard  you,"  called  a  piping  voice;  "the  Weasel 
has  just  gone  down  the  other  way." 

Alixe  passed  through  into  her  own  great  chamber. 
There  in  the  centre  of  the  bed,  the  one  which  Miss 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  341 

Spencer  had  likened  to  the  Great  Bed  of  Ware,  was  a 
bundle  of  white.  Alixe  bent  over  it  and  kissed  it,  her 
tears  falling  fast. 

"  Oh,  my  little  Gartha !    And  I  away  from  you ! " 

"Ah!  nom  de  Dieu,  you  certainly  ought  to  have 
been  here,  Alixe.  You  know  very  well  that  I  w^ill 
mind  no  one  but  you.  Not  Valery  always.  But  I 
cannot  blame  you  leading  your  gay  life  in  Paris! 
I  am  sorry  to  take  you  away  from  it,  Alixe,"  Gartha 
gave  a  long  sigh,  Alixe  a  longer  one;  "but  Valery 
says  this  is  your  plain  duty." 

"  Where  does  it  hurt  you,  darling?  " 

"  Well,  pretty  much  all  over.  The  reason  you  can't 
see  my  face  is  that  they  have  bound  me  up.  I  do  not 
know  when  they  did  it.  They  put  something  to  my 
nose ;  it  w^as  lovely,  but  of  an  odor !  Oh,  but  of  an 
odor!  or  they  should  not  have  did  it,"  Gartha  spoke 
slowly,  she  was  tired.   "  Have — you — come — to  stay  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  darling,  to  stay !    To  stay  forever ! " 

"  Did  my  father,  did  Yalery  esplain  to  you,  Alixe?  " 

"  No,  darling,  I  hardly  saw  him.  I  came  directly 
up  to  you.  But  you  must  not  talk  so  much.  Your 
father  will  tell  me  later." 

"I  must  tell  you  a  little,"  said  Gartha  in  a  weak 
voice.  "  You  see  I  will  mind  no  one  but  you.  My  lit- 
tle mamma  gave  me  to  you,  and  when  the  Weasel,  I 
mean  the  cacomistle,  said,  'Do  not!'  I  did  it.  Je 
m'en  bats  I'oeil." 

Alixe  was  laughing  and  crying  together. 

"  Well,  one  fine  day  I  went  where  I  had  been  forbid- 
den to  go." 

"One  day?" 

"  Oh !  Alixe,  do  not  stories  begin  always  that  way. 
It  was  this  morning,  but  I  cannot  help  that — I  went 


342  THE  ABCHBiSHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

to  my  Uncle  Bruno's  rooms.  Oli,  liow  I  hate  my 
Uncle  Bruno!  I  liave  not  been  there  since— since, 
oh,  well,  quand  j'etais  gosse." 

Alixe  smiled  indulgently  at  the  forbidden  argot. 

"  Well,  you  went  into  your  Uncle  Bruno's  rooms. 
How  did  you  get  in,  by  the  way?  " 

"Marie  Mourouge  had  been  clean,  clean— le  net- 
toyage,  you  know,  Alixe.  Uncle  Bruno  wrote  to  her 
to  while  no  one  was  here.  It  seems  that  he  did  not 
understand  that  Mamasha  would  marry  with  the  Lord 
Eldon  and  all  of  us  was  coming,  and  nat— naturally  I 
went  in  with  Marie  Monrouge." 

"Yes,  it  was  very  natural,"  said  Alixe. 

"  Eh  bien !  while  Marie  Monrouge  was  in  the  fur- 
ther room,  au  fond,  you  know,  Alixe,  suddenly  I  saw 
a  cunning  little  box,  but  of  the  cunningest.  I  opened 
it " 

"Poor  little  Pandora!"  said  Yalery's  voice.  He 
came  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  I  am  tired,  let— Yalery— tell " 

"  I  will  tell  Alixe  down-stairs. "  Yalery  put  his  fin- 
ger on  his  lip,  and  soon  there  was  quiet  in  the  room, 
hardly  broken  by  Gartha's  soft  breathing. 

When  Alixe  could  withdraw  her  fingers  from  Gar- 
tha's, she  went  away  with  Yalery,  to  learn  how  the 
little  girl  had  started  some  machinery  in  motion  by 
turning  a  small  lever.  Then,  hearing  an  ominous 
ticking  and  buzzing,  she  became  frightened,  and  ran 
toward  the  door.  She  was  on  the  landing  when  the 
explosion  took  place,  and  because  of  that  probably 
escaped  death.  Marie  Monrouge  was  in  the  third 
chamber,  but  beyond  being  terribly  frightened  by  the 
falling  of  bricks,  she  was  taken  out  unhurt. 

Alixe  now  took  upon  herself  all  the  care  of  the  child. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  343 

She  allowed  the  traiued  nurse  to  do  only  what  she 
herself  was  not  competent  to  do.  After  a  few  days 
the  physician  sent  for  from  Paris  to  consult  with  the 
doctor  from  the  hospital  in  the  village,  said  that  he 
felt  sure  that  Gartha  would  recover  the  use  of  her 
limbs  and  be  as  she  was  before.  There  would  be 
scars,  but  not  on  her  face. 

On  the  sixth  day  of  Alixe's  presence  at  the  Abbey, 
Gartha  had  the  bandage  removed  from  her  face.  She 
was  lying  back  on  the  pillows,  and  as  usual,  when  not 
too  tired,  was  talking. 

"  Alixe,  did  you  ever  hear  of  any  one  being  married 
on  her  bed  of  death,  on  her  lit  de  mort?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Alixe;  "yes,  I  believe  I 
have." 

"  Bien !  the  Weasel  told  me  of  such  a  thing.  Now 
will  you  do  a  thing  that  shall  please  me?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  what  is  it?" 

"Put  on  your  halo,  Sainte  Vierge." 

"Oh,  Gartha!     Do  not  say  such  things." 

"  The  Russian  hat !  The  Russian  hat !  I  will  have 
you  in  the  Russian  hat.  The  Weasel  has  read  me  a 
tale  once  about  a  lady  who  was  dying,  and  she  asked 
to  be  married  to  her  lover  on  her  bed  of  death.  Have 
you  gone  for  the  halo,  Alixe  ?  " 

"Yes,  Gartha,  I  have  it  on,"  said  Alixe,  coming 
back  to  the  bedside. 

"  Y'ou  must  excuse  me,"  said  Gartha,  ''my  eyesight 
is  a  little  impaired.  That  is  what  the  English  doctor 
from  Paris  said  it  would  be — "  imitating  the  pom- 
pous tone  of  that  physician — "'  but  for  a  time,  dear 
little  mademoiselle,  only  for  a  time. '  She  asked  to  be 
married  (the  lady,  I  mean)  with  her  lover  on  her  lit  de 
mort,"  said  Gartha,  resuming  her  narrative.     "He 


344  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

did  not  like  her  very  much,  that  is  bad  when  one  likes 
not  one's  femme,  but  as  she  would  be  dead  and  gone  in 
a  few  short  days,  he  consents.  Eh  bien !  The  priests 
came,  and  they  bring  all  the  necessary  things,  I  do 
not  know  what  they  are,  and  the  lover  stood  up  by 
the  lady's  bed,  and  they  were  married  fast  and  firm, 
when  suddenly,  lo,  and  behold!  sapristi!  if  you 
believe,  that  lady  begins  to  improve.  Every  morning 
when  the  lover,  now  the  liusban',  comes  to  the  door, 
and  whines,  '  How  is  my  dear  wife  this  morning? ' 
the  nurse  answers,  *  She  is  much  improved.  Mon- 
sieur. Galloping  at  a  pace,  oh,  but  a  pace !  toward 
the  health. ' 

"  Finally,  one  fatal  day,  she  conceives  the  idea  of 
getting  up  and  standing  behind  the  door.  So  up 
comes  the  mari  and  says,  '  How  is  my  dear  wife  this 
morning?  '  when  suddenly  out  she  springs  to  him,  say- 
ing, '  My  dear  lover,  I  am  well ! '  With  this  the  hus- 
ban'  was  so  surprise  that,  sapristi !  down  he  drops 
dead  from  mal  atroce,  and  the  wife  lives  happy  ever 
after." 

Alixe  and  Valery  were  laughing  at  the  termination 
of  this  sad  story,  when  Gartha  began  to  speak  again. 

"  Do  not  laugh  or  make  merry  at  my  espense,  my 
dear  aunt  and  father.  I  think  I  am,  myself,  near 
death.  So  I  beg  of  you  to  call  my  faithful  servants 
round  me  and  send  for  John  Quentin  to  marry  me, 
that  we  may  look  our  last  on  the  hillside  where  he 
licked  Robert  Halle,  and  I  may  rest  easy  in  my  grave." 

The  tears  were  running  down  Valery 's  face,  but  not 
from  grief.  "  How  they  do  stuff  children  with  that 
stilted  nonsense, "  he  said.  "  But  suppose  you  should 
get  well,  Gartha,  what  would  John  Quentin  do  then?  " 

"That  is  just  the  very  greates'  trouble,"  said  Gar- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  345 

tha  earnestly,  "  If  I  was  sure  that  I  was  indeed  struck 
with  death,  that  I  had  the  final  coup,  I  would  have 
you  send  for  him,  but  as  I  am  not  quite  certain,  I 
might  get  well  and  it  would  be — a — embarrassment  of 
him.  It  might  be  a  embarrassment  de  moi  aussi, 
Valery.  And  it  would  embarrass  Jan  McDonal'  still 
the  more.  I  have  promise  to  marry  Jan  McDonaF. 
I  would  send  for  him  now,  but  he  could  not  get  here 
in  time,  and  as  long  as  I  am  struck  with  death,  it 
makes  but  little  matter  who  the  man  may  be." 

"  Gartha,  you  will  be  the  death  of  me ! "  shouted 
Valery.  "I  think  I'll  run  up  to  Paris  to-morrow.  I 
warned  ofif  the  Eldons,  and  you  may  be  sure  dear  old 
Mamasha  doesn't  want  any  death-bed  scenes,  but  I 
might  bring  Quentin  down." 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Alixe;  "we  are  not  ready  for  visitors,  Valery,  and  I 
am  in  no  state  to  see  any  one." 

"  Do  you  really  think  I  shall  get  well?  "  asked  Gar- 
tha in  a  disappointed  tone.  "  Because  if  you  are  not 
quite,  quite  sure,  sur  et  certain,  you  might  ask  John 
Quentin  to  come  back  with  you,  and  his  Emnunce,  to 
commit  the  services." 


XXXIX. 

So  it  came  about  that  Alixe  and  Gartha  were  left 
alone.  Alixe  had  moved  the  child  to  a  small  couch 
where  she  could  care  for  her  more  easily.  At  night 
the  great  iron  doors  of  the  Abbess's  room  were  dou- 
ble locked  and  bolted,  and  Alixe  felt  secure  as  in  a 
fortress. 

It  was  on  the  night  that  Valery  had  left  the  Abbey. 
Alixe  was  in  her  bed ;  Gartha  asleep.  Suddenly,  out 
of  the  stillness  of  the  night,  there  came  a  knocking  on 
the  iron  door.  Alixe  opened  to  find  Marie  Monrouge 
standing  there,  her  eyes  staring  wide. 

"Oh,  Madame,"  she  said,  "Father  Halle  is  here, 
and  he  says  that  he  must  see  you." 

Alixe  had  not  time  to  more  than  throw  on  her  dress- 
ing gown,  before  Halle  was  at  the  door  also.  He 
pushed  into  the  room,  crying,  "  Save  me,  Alixe !  Save 
me!" 

"Hush!"  said  Alixe  sternly.  "Do  you  not  know? 
Can  you  not  see?  "  She  pointed  toward  Gartha' s  bed. 
The  child  stirred  uneasily  in  her  sleep.  "That  is 
what  you  and  Bruno  have  brought  her  to.  I  know 
not  how !     I  do  not  ask,  but  the  least  you  can  do " 

As  Alixe  spoke  there  was  a  loud  ringing  at  the  outer 
gate,  the  door  within  the  wall.  Halle  sank  down 
upon  the  floor,  clinging  to  Alixe 's  robe.  "  Oh,  rescue 
me !  Rescue  me !  "  he  cried.  He  shook,  he  trembled. 
It  was  plain  he  was  in  a  state  of  abject  terror. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  347 

"  Save  you !    And  from  what?  " 

"  Open !  Open  in  the  name  of  the  law ! "  The 
shout  came  clear  and  distinct  from  beyond  the  gate. 

"Who  are  those  that  come  at  this  time  of  the 
night? "  asked  Alixe  of  Halle.  "  Have  they  come 
here  for  you?  " 

"  They  are  the  officers  of  the  law.  Oh,  save  me,  1 
beg  of  you !  Save  me,  Alixe !  If  not  for  the  love  that 
I  have  ever  borne  you,  then  for  the  sake  of  our  life- 
long friendship." 

"Be  silent!"  said  Alixe  sternly.  "Marie  Mon- 
rouge  "  (to  the  trembling  maid),  "  who  saw  this  "  (a 
motion  of  the  head  toward  the  cringing  figure),  "  this 
priest  come  in  here?  " 

"  No  one,  Madame.     He  came  from  the  fields " 

"I  have  been  in  hiding  all  day.  I  climbed  into  the 
loft.  I  heard  the  men  talking,  they  said  it  had  been 
discovered " 

"  What  had  been  discovered?  Marie  Monrouge,  go 
down  and  keep  out  of  the  way  !  Go  to  your  mother. 
If  any  one  asks  you  if  you  have  seen  Father  Halle — 
say — avoid  ansAvering.  In  fact,  Marie  Monrouge, 
you  had  better  keep  quite  out  of  the  way,  for  I 
would  not  have  you  tell  a  falsehood,  even  for  Father 
Halle." 

Marie  Monrouge  slipped  down  the  stairs,  crossed 
the  salon,  and  hid  her  quaking  form  within  the  ruins, 
where  she  heard  again,  and  yet  a  third  time,  the  de- 
mand, "  Open !  open !  in  the  name  of  the  law !  " 

"  What  had  they  discovered?  "  Alixe  repeated  the 
question  to  the  priest. 

"The— the  Archbishop's  death.  Had  you  not? 
Oh,  God!  "  for  she  had  fallen  upon  the  floor. 

She   quickly   recovered   herself.      "  Oh,    my   dear 


348  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Archbishop!"  she  cried  aloud.  "Dead!  Dead!  My 
dear  Archbishop!  And  they  suspect  you?  Poor 
Eobert!  Why  not  go  out  and  face  them?  "  the  tears 
were  flooding  Alixe's  face.  "And  they  say  that  you 
are  guilty?  Oh,  my  dear  Archbishop,  my  dear  old 
friend ! " 

But  Halle  was  cringing  and  crawling  at  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot,  I  cannot !  Close  the  door,  I  beg,  I 
beg  of  you.     They  will  never  look  for  me  here." 

"No,"  said  Alixe,  "they  will  never  look  for  you 
here." 

She  looked  down  at  him  through  blinding  tears. 

"  Ouvrez !  ouvrez !  au  nom  de  la  loi !  " 

Through  the  open  window  Alixe  heard  the  bolts 
withdrawn  and  the  great  gate  flung  wide.  Lights 
flashed  on  the  terrace,  she  caught  sounds  of  interro- 
gations, and  denials,  then  she  heard  the  officers  enter 
the  chateau  and  the  tramping  of  footsteps  as  they 
searched  the  lower  rooms.  Gartha  moved  in  her  sleep. 
Alixe  ran  to  her.  "  Here,  Sweet !  "  she  said,  and  rais- 
ing the  child  upon  her  arm,  she  gave  her  a  sleeping 
potion  one  hour  too  early.  Gartha  sank  back  with  a 
sigh. 

"I  thought  I  saw  Eobert  Halle,"  she  muttered. 
"  You  know  how  I  hate  Robert  Halle — only  a — lit — 
little — less  than — my — Uncle — Bruno. " 

"  We  must  lock  the  door,  Alixe ;  we  must  make  fast 
the  door." 

Alixe  turned  and  again  surveyed  the  black  figure 
prostrate  before  her.  The  man  was  unshorn  and  un- 
kempt. His  black  robe  was  muddy,  his  sandals  were 
covered  with  the  loam  of  the  fields.  She  went  to  the 
iron  door  and  closed  it,  then  she  stood  and  listened. 
She  heard  the  search  going  on  below. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  349 

"Is  it  certain  that  he  is  dead?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Halle. 

"How  do  you  know?  " 

"  The  street  gamins,  the  newsboys,  were  crying  it 
in  Paris  before  I  left. " 

"When  was  it?" 

"In  the  night  some  time." 

" How  do  you  know?  " 

The  priest  shuddered  and  put  his  hands  before  his 
face. 

"  I  know  what  they  said.  They  called,  '  In  the 
night,  in  the  night ! '  " 

"When  did  you  see  His  Grace  last?  " 

"  Many  days  ago."  Alixe  fixed  the  shifty  eyes  with 
her  steady  look. 

"  Had  you  a  hand  in — in — this?  " 

Halle  looked  down  and  muttered:  "I  had  not." 

"  Will  you  swear  it?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  anything !  Only  do  not  open  the  door 
to  them." 

Alixe  took  from  the  chiffonier  her  silver  cross. 

"Swear,"  she  said,  "on  Virginia's  cross."  She 
held  out  the  symbol.  The  priest  shuddered  and  drew 
back,  but  at  the  increasing  noise  below  he  eagerly 
clutched  it  and  kissed  it  fervently.  "  I  swear ! "  he 
whispered  hoarsely,  "  I  swear ! " 

There  were  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  They  came 
nearer  and  more  near.  Then  sounded  the  expected 
summons  on  the  panel  of  the  door.  "Open!  open! 
in  the  name  of  the  law !  " 

Alixe  looked  toward  the  priest  crouched  upon  the 
floor.  He  was  edging  toward  the  bed.  He  reached 
out  his  arm  and  raised  the  valance.  He  was  about 
to  conceal  himself  there.     Alixe  shook  her  head  and 


350  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

made  motion  with  her  lips,  "They  will  look  there 
first." 

Again  the  summons  at  the  door. 

Alixe  straightened  herself  to  her  full  height. 

"Who  is  it  that  comes  at  the  dead  of  night  to 
frighten  helpless  and  unprotected  women?  " 

"  Open,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  and  we  will  tell  you. 
This  door,  all  doors,  must  be  opened."  Alixe  glanced 
again  at  Halle.  He  was  shaking  as  if  in  a  chill.  He 
rolled  his  sunken  eyes  at  her  beseechingly.  He 
clasped  his  shaking  hands  in  supplication,  then 
clutched  her  robe,  and  wound  his  fingers  in  the  long 
braid  of  hair  that  fell  to  the  lace  rufile  which  swept 
the  floor.     His  face  had  lost  all  trace  of  color. 

"They  will  take  me,"  he  whined,  in  a  broken  whis- 
per— the  tears  were  raining  down  his  cheeks,  his  ton- 
sured head  was  bare.  Alixe  could  not  repress  a  feel- 
ing of  disgust  as  she  looked  at  him.  "I  will  open  in 
a  moment,"  she  called ;  "  give  me  but  a  moment.  Get 
up,"  she  whispered.  The  man  arose,  she  threw  back 
the  cover  of  the  bed.  "  Hide  there !  "  She  nodded 
her  head  with  a  contemptuous  motion  toward  the 
opening.  "  Back,  back !  "  she  whispered,  "  or  I  will 
not  answer  for  your  safety." 

When  she  turned  again  to  the  door  there  was  naught 
to  be  seen  of  the  priest.  He  had  shrunken  down  be- 
hind the  great  piece  of  furniture,  and  was  almost  con- 
cealed in  the  crack  between  it  and  the  wall. 

Alixe  took  Gartha  up  in  her  arms,  she  spoke  aloud 
to  her  and  soothingly:  "Do  not  be  frightened,  my 
Sweet.  It  is  I,  Alixe,"  and  laid  her  down  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  bed.  Then  she  again  approached  the  door. 
Her  motions  had  been  so  swift  that  the  rapping  was 
only  just  renewed.     Then  she  spoke. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  351 

"Who  is  it  that  you  seek?" 

"  A  priest.  A  man  named  Halle.  It  is  known  that 
lie  struck  the  Archbishop  down  last  night  as  he  came 
from  a  visit  to  the  Cardinal.  We  must  search  here  as 
well  as  elsewhere." 

"You  must  wait  a  moment,"  said  Alixe;  "when  I 
call,  then  enter." 

She  unlocked  the  door,  walked  swiftly  to  the  bed 
and  lay  down  by  Gartha,  her  hand  caressing  the  child. 

"Now  enter,"  she  called. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  three  sergeants  de  ville 
pushed  into  the  room.  As  they  entered,  Alixe,  who 
could  not  preserve  the  deceiving  appearance  of  calm 
which  she  had  planned,  arose  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"  And  is  this  the  manner,"  she  asked,  "  in  which  the 
police  of  France  protect  the  people  who  live  within 
their  borders?  Do  they  force  themselves  in  on 
women  and  little  children?  The  child  has  been  ill, 
burned,  near  death,  and  you  come  exjjecting  to  find 
the  Archbishop's  murderer  here.  Do  you  know  that 
the  Archbishoj)  was  my  friend?  Would  I,  think  you, 
willingly  harbor  his  murderer?  " 

Alixe  had  now  arisen  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  scornfully  surveying,  from  her  tall  height,  the 
short  officer  in  front  of  her. 

It  was  a  wonderful  incture  that  upon  which  he 
looked.  Her  splendid  hair  fell  in  great  braids,  and 
swept  the  lace  at  the  bottom  of  her  robe.  Her  white 
feet  were  bare.  In  her  hand  she  still  held  the  ame- 
thyst cross,  which  caught  the  lights  reflected  from  the 
lantern  in  the  hand  of  one  of  the  soldiers. 

The  chief  officer  cast  a  suspicious  glance  about  the 
great  room. 

"To  whom  were  you  speaking?  "  he  demanded. 


352  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"I  was  soothing  the  child,"  she  said,  motioning 
with  her  head  toward  the  little  white  heap. 

"Is  there  no  one  else  here?  " 

"  You  may  look,  you  may  search,  you  have  my  full 
permission." 

"We  know  that  the  man  we  seek  is  a  frequent 
guest  of  the  Abbey." 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  has  been.  He  was  a  friend  of  us  all. 
We  never  credited  aught  against  him.  I  will  not  be- 
lieve that  he  committed  this  dreadful  deed ;  but,  if  he 
were  here,  and  I  believed  your  charge  against  him, 
do  you  not  think  that  I  would  give  him  up  to  you,  old 
friends  though  we  are?  " 

"  Will  you  swear  that  he  is  not  in  the  room  ?  " 

Alixe  threw  her  head  proudly  back,  and  looked 
down  upon  the  man  from  lids  which  were  almost 
closed.     In  her  most  scornful  voice  she  said : 

"  I  have  told  you  that  he  is  not  here.  Is  not  that 
enough?  " 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  swears  it?  " 

"  He  is  not  here,"  was  the  reply,  " The  man  whom 
you  seek  is  not  here." 

The  officer  in  charge  cast  an  irresolute  glance  at  the 
two  sergeants  de  ville.  "It  is  enough,  Madame,"  he 
said.  He  bowed  and  withdrew  with  the  others  into  the 
hall.  When  they  were  half  way  down  the  stair  Alixe 
closed  the  door  and  locked  it. 

She  swept  across  the  room  and  neared  the  bed. 

"Come,  Robert,"  she  whispered.  "Come,  you  are 
saved ! "  She  heard  the  heavy  footsteps  below  stairs, 
crossing  the  salon.  She  heard  the  men  go  to  the 
outer  gate,  which  the  quaking  Charles  opened  only 
too  willingly,  and  ride  away  toward  Moncousis.  The 
priest  had  heard  also  the  departing  gallop  of  the 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  353 

horses.  He  slid  from  the  protecting  cover,  and  re- 
mained standing  where  his  sandalled  feet  touched  the 
floor.  His  look  was  fastened  upon  Alixe,  the  woman 
who  had  just  rescued  him  from  shame  and  death. 
Alixe  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  relief,  but  there  was 
something  repellant  in  the  gaze  that  he  turned  upon 
her,  something  new,  of  freedom,  and  presumption, 
and  demand.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Alixe  felt 
a  horror  of  him ;  she  was  afraid. 

She  went  swiftly  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  drew 
aside  the  curtains.     "Come  here,"  she  said  sternly. 

The  withdrawal  of  the  curtains  discovered  a  recess 
and  sliding  panel  within  the  wall. 

"Help  me,"  she  ordered.  The  tone  was  new  to 
Halle.  Together  they  pushed  the  heavy  mass  of 
wood  and  iron  away.  Alixe  reached  her  hand  within 
the  recess  and  unlocked  the  panel.  She  pushed  it 
aside.  It  slid  within  its  case  in  the  thick  wall.  She 
turned  to  the  priest,  and  pointing  to  the  opening,  she 
uttered  the  one  word,  "  Go !  " 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her.  His  gaze  envel- 
oped her  with  a  bold  and  despairing  admiration,  he 
seemed  devouring  her  beauty,  a  beauty  of  whose  rav- 
ishing extent  he  had  never  dreamed  until  now. 

The  look  of  the  priest  was  glaring,  intense,  fixed. 
It  rapidly  became  one  of  insult,  an  unholy  passion 
blazed  within  his  eyes,  he  took  a  step  nearer.  Alixe 
shrank  back  and  away  from  him.  She  held  him  with 
a  steady  eye,  though  her  heart  was  bursting  with 
anger  and  fear.  She  pointed  toward  the  open  door- 
way with  an  imperious  motion  of  the  hand. 

"  Go ! "  she  said,  in  a  low  and  steady  voice.  "  I  hear 
the  horses  again.  It  may  have  been  only  a  ruse." 
At  her  words  Halle,  with  a  look  of  terror,  slunk  to- 
23 


354  THE  AECHBISHOP  AJST>  THE  LADY 

ward  the  opening.  "  And  if  they  do  return,  I  shall 
tell  no  more  lies  for  yon,  coward ! " 

As  Alixe  closed  the  panel  it  grazed  the  shoulder  of 
the  priest.  She  pushed  it  quickly  home  and  locked 
it,  and  also  pushed  in  place  the  heavy  bolt,  and  then, 
the  strain  being  over,  she  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees  in  the  Abbess's  prie-dieu. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Archbishop ! "  she  cried.  "  My  dear, 
dear  Archbishop ! " 


XL. 


QuENTiN  watched  the  corner  of  the  garden  for  sev- 
eral days,  but  he  did  not  see  Alixe  again.  He 
haunted  the  churches  and  scanned  the  journals  to  see 
if  any  one,  or  rather  the  one  in  whom  he  was  inter- 
ested, had  taken  the  vows  which  would  shut  her 
away  from  the  world  and  himself  forever  more,  but 
he  heard  of  no  one  that  he  knew  taking  up  the  con- 
ventual life.  Finally,  after  an  interminable  two 
weeks  of  long  days  spent  on  his  balcony  with  no  re- 
ward, he  left  his  apartment  one  afternoon,  determined 
to  seek  the  Archbishop  and  implore  him  once  more 
to  tell  him  all  that  he  knew.  After  leaving  the  door 
of  his  house  he  walked  along  the  little  street,  and 
came  to  the  great  gate  of  the  convent.  Suddenly  a 
now  thought  struck  him.  Why  not  go  boldly  in  and 
ask  to  see  Alixe  herself?  No  sooner  thought  of  than 
done.  He  rang  the  bell  and  at  once  greeted  the  sis- 
ter in  attendance. 

"  I  wish  to  see  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,"  said  Quen- 
tin. 

"  The  Duchesse  di  Brazzia?  I  know  of  no  such  per- 
son," said  the  sister.  "Is  it,  perhaps,  the  tall  lady 
who  has  just  taken  the  veil?  " 

How  far  down  Quentin's  heart  sank  at  these  words 
he  could  not  estimate.  It  seemed  a  physical  fall  of 
that  organ,  and  it  thumped  and  beat  in  its  fall  like  a 
steam-hammer. 


356  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  She  has  taken  the  veil ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  then 
leaned  against  the  inside  of  the  gate  unable  to  say- 
more. 

The  gentle  little  sister,  seeing  his  distress,  sug- 
gested: "Perhaps  Monsieur  would  like  to  see  the 
Mother  Superior.  She  can  tell  the  monsieur  more 
than  I  can." 

Quentin  followed  the  serving  sister  as  if  in  a  dream. 
She  took  him  into  the  interior  of  the  convent,  and 
seated  him  in  the  reception  room.  When  he  was  left 
alone  he  became  a  prey  to  the  gravest  fears,  the  bit- 
terest thoughts.  Could  it  be  possible  that  her  life 
had  been  so  hard  that  she  had  voluntarily  resigned 
the  world  and  its  friendships?  He  did  not  say  pleas- 
ures, for  Alixe  had  had  few  real  pleasures.  He  felt 
suddenly  a  renewed  animosity  toward  his  friend, 
Madame.  Even  were  Alixe  unhappily  married,  was 
not  her  mother  left  to  her?  Could  not  she  soften  this 
hardest  of  all  hard  trials? 

He  groaned  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"You  wish  to  speak  with  me?  " 

Quentin  looked  up  to  see  a  woman  in  the  habit  of  a 
nun  standing  near  him.  He  had  not  heard  her  enter, 
and  yet  the  room  had  been  deathlike  in  its  stillness. 

Quentin  arose  at  once  and  controlled  himself. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "may  I  see  the  Duchesse  di 
Brazzia?  " 

The  Mother  Superior  looked  surprised.  She  did 
not  answer  at  once.     When  she  spoke,  she  said : 

"From  whom  do  you  come?  " 

"I  have  no  credentials,"  said  Quentin,  forcing  a 
smile,  "  but  I  am  a  friend  of  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia, 
and  it  is  important  that  I  should  see  her  for  a  few 
moments." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  357 

"Do  you  come  from  the  Archbishop?  " 

"No." 

"Does  he  know  that  you  are  coming  here  to-day?  " 

"  No,  Madame.  I  thought  of  going  to  him,  but  I 
was  passing  your  gate,  and  felt  impelled  to  come  in 
and  ask  for  myself.  You  do  not  answer  me.  What 
has  happened?     Can  I  not  see  her?  " 

"  She  whom  you  call  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia  is  not 
here,  monsieur." 

"  Whom  I  call  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia !  "  Quentin 
was  breathless.  "  Whom  I  call  the  Duchess  di  Braz- 
zia!    What!    What  do  you " 

"We  already  called  her  Soeur  Cecile  among  our- 
selves," said  the  Mother  Superior,  smiling;  "soon  we 
hope  to  have  her  feel  that  she  has  cast  off  the  old 
name  and  taken  the  new  one  forever." 

"  Then  she  has  taken  no  vows  as  yet?  " 

"No,  Monsieur." 

"  And  may  I  see  her?  " 

"She  is  not  here.  Monsieur;  I  have  told  you 
already. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes — pardon,  Madame,  not  here? 
Where  then?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you.  It  was  her  request  that 
we  should  give  her  address  to  no  one.  When  a  sorely 
tried  soul  is  thinking  of  entering  the  convectual  life. 
Monsieur,  it  does  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  world  and  worldly  things." 

"  But  this  is  monstrous !  "  said  Quentin.  "  Mon- 
strous !  That  such  a  woman,  born  to  ornament 
society " 

"Born  for  the  service  of  the  Lord,  Monsieur,"  re- 
turned the  Mother  Superior  gravely.  There  was  a 
silence  of  some  seconds,  which  finally  she  broke. 


358  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  claim  you  have  on  the  Duchesse 
di  Brazzia?  " 

Quentin  looked  down  and  bit  his  lip.  "None,"  he 
said. 

"  You  are  not  then,  by  chance,  the  Count  St.  Au- 
bin?" 

"I  am  not,"  said  Quentin.. 

"Not  her  brother-in-law.  Monsieur  Valery?  " 

"No,"  answered  Quentin. 

"Nor  relative  of  any  kind?  " 

"I  am  not,"  said  he  again. 

The  Mother  Superior  looked  the  young  man  over 
from  head  to  foot.  If  ever  there  was  a  human  being 
for  whom  a  woman  would  willingly  risk  the  perils  of 
the  world,  this  was  the  man.  Some  such  thought 
may  have  passed  through  the  Mother  Superior's  mind, 
some  dim  and  far-away  echo  of  the  love  song  of  her 
youth,  but  her  face  was  set  and  stern,  and  her  voice 
showed  no  sympathy,  if  she  felt  any. 

"And  what  has  a  young  man,  not  a  relative,  to  do 
with  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  like  the  Duchesse 
di  Brazzia? "  Almost  the  words  which  the  Arch- 
bishop had  used. 

" It  is  true,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  answer.  I  am 
less  than  nothing  to  her,  but  I  cannot  stand  bj'  and 
see  her  immured  within  walls  such  as  these,  leaving 
the  world,  where  some  time  she  may  find  happiness, 
to  take  up  a  career  against  which  she  will  chafe  and 
rebel,  and  find  too  late  that  it  is  not  what  she  had 
hoped." 

"  With  all  of  which  I  have  nothing  to  do,  Monsieur. 
I  know  that  from  my  standpoint  the  holy  life  is  the 
onlj'  one,  and " 

"And  you  are,  all  of  you,  urging  her  to  accept  it; 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  359 

to  come  and  seclude  herself  among  yon ;  to  take  oaths, 
which,  when  taken,  cannot  be  broken ;  you  are  influ- 
encing her " 

"Naturally,"  returned  the  Mother  Superior. 
"  Naturally.  Not  that  she  is  a  person,  the  Duchesse 
di  Brazzia,  who  is  easily  influenced,"  a  shade  of  an- 
noyance crossed  the  speaker's  face.  "  She  judges  for 
herself,  and  argues  it  out  step  by  step.  She  will  not 
go  one  inch  beyond  her  convictions.  When  you  hear 
that  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia  has  taken  the  veil,  you 
may  rest  assured  that  nowhere  else  could  she  have 
found  happiness.  Even  should  she  remain  in  the 
world,  she  will  ever  have  a  leaning  toward  the  holy 
life.     She  is  high  principled  and  faithful,  she  is " 

"I  know,  I  know,  Madame,"  said  Quentin.  "You 
can  tell  me  nothing  good  about  her  of  which  I  am  not 
assured  already ;  but  you  can  tell  me  one  thing  that  I 
do  not  know,  and  that  is  where  she  is  at  this  moment." 

"  And  you  would  crave  to  know  against  her  expressed 
wish?" 

"No,  not  if  I  believed  it  to  be  her  expressed  wish." 

"You  may  rest  assured  that  it  is.  Monsieur." 

Quentin  bowed  and  went  away.  He  felt  almost 
certain  that  Alixe  was  still  within  the  convent,  and  if 
not,  that  she  had  been  taken  to  some  other  to  elude 
him.  It  must  be  the  Archbishop's  doing.  HeAvould 
go  to  him  and  demand  to  know  where  they  had  cou- 
cealed  this  splendid  young  creature,  that  they  might 
fill  the  coffers  of  their  church  with  her  fortune.  The 
injustice  of  this  suspicion  Quentin  did  not  appreciate. 
All  men  are  prejudiced,  and  most  men  are  unjust,  be- 
cause it  is  almost  impossible  to  judge  fairly  from  a 
standpoint  of  prejudice. 

Quentin  was  overwhelmed  by  a  feeling  of  supreme 


360  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

pity  for  this  charming,  helpless  being,  whom  he 
was  convinced  was  badgered,  put  upon,  over-conscien- 
tious, unsympathized  with,  except  by  the  Archbishop, 
whose  kindness  and  personal  and  truly  spiritual  at- 
tractions, he  felt  and  feared,  might  prove  a  strong  fac- 
tor toward  persuading  Alixe  to  shelter  herself  within 
the  walls  of  the  cloister. 


XLL 

When  Quentin  was  ushered  out  of  the  convent  gate, 
he  walked  blindly  along,  not  knowing  where  to  go. 
Finally,  he  found  himself  in  the  Kue  Vaugirard  and 
near  the  Luxembourg  Gardens.  He  did  not  go  up 
the  steps  that  lead  to  the  gallery,  but  turned  and 
walked  into  the  open  gate,  and  went  along  the  grav- 
elled path  to  where  he  saw  an  empty  bench  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  tree.  The  bench  was  near  a  little  pond 
upon  which  some  ducks  were  disporting  themselves, 
and  Quentin  sat  idly  watching  them  as  they  stood  on 
their  heads  or  swam  about  in  the  water,  and  then — his 
gaze  wandered  across  the  pond.  Away  upon  the  other 
side,  he  suddenlj^  caught  sight  of  the  Archbishop. 
Here  would  be  a  solution  of  the  difficulty.  The  Arch- 
bishop was  walking  very  fast  in  the  other  direction ; 
that  is,  exactly  away  from  him.  He  must  skirt  the 
entire  pond  before  he  could  catch  up  with  him.  He 
started  to  walk  at  a  smart  pace,  and  had  nearh'  encir- 
cled the  water  when  he  was  stopped  by  a  deep  ditch, 
and  a  printed  notice  that  this  passage  was  interdicted. 
Quentin,  nothing  loath,  ran  and  made  a  flying  leap 
across  the  heads  of  the  workmen  beneath.  There  was 
a  great  outcry,  and  he  found  himself  promptly  stopped 
by  a  gendarme.  Experience  had  taught  Quentin  that 
resistance  in  such  a  case  only  made  matters  worse. 

Explanations  were  in  order,  some  money  was  slipped 
into  the  hand  of  the  soldier  with  Quentin's  card;  but 


362  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

the  little  disturbance  liad  lasted  long  enougli  to  pre- 
vent the  fulfilment  of  his  desires,  and  when  he  was 
again  at  liberty  the  Archbishop  had  disappeared.^ 
Quentin  ran  toward  the  gate  out  of  which  he  must  have 
passed,  but  his  straining  eyes  saw  no  one  that  looked 
like  his  old  friend,  and  he  sulkily  hailed  a  passing 
cab  and  ordered  the  cocher  to  drive  to  Madame 's 
number. 

It  was  a  long  drive,  and  Quentin  was  certain  that 
the  man  had  skirted  the  Exposition  buildings  to  make 
the  trip  more  lucrative.  He  had  said,  "A  I'heure," 
and  the  little  horse  jogged  along  at  a  snail  pace,  not- 
withstanding the  repeated  loud  cracks  of  the  whip. 

Quentin  remembered  what  Valery  had  once  said 
about  Paris  cabmen :  That  all  their  horses  were  trick 
horses;  that  the  horses  knew  by  a  certain  sort  of 
crack  of  the  whip  whether  it  was  a  false  alarm,  or 
whether  it  was  really  meant  as  an  incentive  to  haste. 
The  whip  cracked  incessantly,  the  horse  kept  up  his 
slow  jog-trot  pace,  minding  the  apparent  request  to 
be  more  speedy  no  more  than  a  cavalry  horse  minds 
the  booming  of  artillery,  and  Quentin  leaned  back 
and  resigned  himself  to  the  inevitable. 

Arrived  at  Madame 's  door,  he  mounted  the  stairs 
in  no  time  and  rang  impatiently.  As  before,  Ma- 
dame was  at  home ;  and  as  before,  he  heard  a  great  deal 
of  rustling  about  in  the  next  room,  for  what  woman, 
even  if  she  is  to  be  married  to  another  man,  wishes 
either  a  discarded  or  discarding  lover  to  see  her  look- 
ing anything  but  her  best?  Madame  remained  longer 
before  the  glass  than  usual,  and  came  in  smiling,  with 
a  rose  bloom  on  her  cheek  which  Quentin  was  certain 
had  been  placed  there,  and  not  by  the  hand  of  God, 
since  he  had  rung  the  bell.     There  are  a  few  things 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  363 

that  Omnipotence  cannot  accomplish.     This  is  one 
of  them. 

Madame  had  not  seen  Quentin  since  their  encoun- 
ter in  this  very  room,  and  her  manner  was  somewhat 
shy  and  unassured ;  but  it  is  never  too  late  to  mend 
such  matters,  and  she  placed  herself  in  a  chair  now, 
not  on  the  sofa,  that  there  might  be  no  reminder  from 
locality  of  that  painful  scene  of  a  day  some  weeks  past. 

"You  are  a  stranger,"  said  Madame,  smiling,  "but 
always  welcome." 

She  did  not  put  out  her  hand  until  Quentin  stretched 
out  his  own,  and  then,  after  a  short  handclasp,  with- 
drew it  at  once.  Madame  had  discovered  that  there 
are  men  into  whose  good  graces  women  must  retreat, 
not  advance.  She  had  learned  a  great  deal  in  theory 
since  last  they  met. 

Quentin  seated  himself  rather  awkwardly.  A  man 
never  feels  so  uncomfortable  as  when  he  has  snubbed, 
or  has  had  to  snub,  a  woman  who  really  cares  for  him, 
and  he  was  experiencing  now  the  consequences  of  a 
careless  and  too  ardent  friendship,  which  he  had  never 
intended  should  bo  anything  more. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  that  same  question  over 
agaiu,"  said  Quentin  abruptly.  He  was  determined 
that  this  time,  at  least,  he  should  not  be  misunder- 
stood. "  Where  is  your  daughter?  "  he  blurted  out 
boldly.  His  tone,  and  the  words  "your  daughter," 
brought  a  deeper  flush  to  Madame 's  cheek  than  the 
chamois  skin  had  left  there. 

Madame  drew  herself  up  coldly. 
"  As  I  told  you  before,  I  do  not  know  where  she  is 
at  this  moment." 

"Is  she  at  a  convent?  Has  she  taken  the  veil? 
Has  she  bound  herself  by  vows " 


364  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  Do  not  get  excited,  Mr.  Quentin,  over  the  Duchesse 
di  Brazzia.  Whatever  she  does  will  be  permitted  by 
her  husband,  the  Count  St.  Aubin,  and  I  cannot  see 
what  you  or  any  other  man,  or  woman,  can  have  to  do 
with  it." 

"That  is  very  true,"  said  Quentin.  "I  know  that 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  God  knows  that  I  have 
had  very  little  to  do  either  with  It  or  her;  but  I  am 
asking  a  simple  question,  one  for  information.  Even 
after  it  is  answered,  I  shall  not  know  what  to  do  any 
more  than  I  know  now,  any  more  than  I  have  known 
what  to  do  since  the  first  moment  I  saw  her." 

"You  are  very  frank,  Mr.  Quentin,"  Madame's  eye- 
lids trembled,  she  pressed  her  lips  together;  "you 
were  my  friend.     You  came  to  visit  me." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  broke  in  Quentin.  "  And  I  shall  thank 
you  ever  and  always  from  the  very  depths  of  my  heart 
for  giving  me  a  chance  to " 

"  Heroics  are  quite  out  of  place,  Mr.  Quentin,  from 
a  young— from  an  unmarried  man  about  a  married 
woman."  Quentin  felt  as  if  he  had  received  a  cold 
douche.  "  There  is  one  thing  that  I  can  certainly  tell 
you,  and  that  is,  that,  no  matter  how  you  pursue 
Alixe,  no  matter  how  much  you  try  to  change  her  de- 
termination, nothing  in  the  world  can  alter  it  when 
once  her  mind  is  made  up.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is 
made  up ;  she  has  always  judged  for  herself " 

"Did  she  judge  for  herself  when  you  married  her 
to  that  little  mountebank " 

"You  are  speaking  of  my  nephew,  Mr.  Quentin," 
said  Madame  dryly.  "You  were  a  visitor  in  his 
house,  and  no  matter  how  much  you  may  feel  your 
superior  height  and  good  looks,  it  is  most  ungenerous 
of  you." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  365 

"I  made  no  comparisons.  I  thought  of  none.  It 
is  patent  to  every  one  that  it  was  a  monstrous  mar- 
riage. She  was  so  young !  Hardly  more  than  eigh- 
teen." 

"I  was  married  at  seventeen,"  said  Madame. 

"T^Tiat  did  she  know  of  marriage?  "  pursued  Quen- 
tin.  "And  with  such  a  gnome  as  that!  Why,  it  is 
Beauty  and  the  Beast  over  again.  If  she  loved  him, 
could  possibly  love  him " 

"  And  has  she  confided  to  you  that  she  does  not 
love  her  husband,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 

"No!  No!"  shouted  Quentin;  "God  forbid!  We 
have  never  had  any  conversation  except  on  the  most 
commonplace  matters.  I  hardly  know  her,  even 
through  conventional  mediums.  But  I  do  know  that 
she  suffers ;  I  have  seen  it  in  her  eyes,  heard  it  in  the 
tones  of  her  voice ;  I  learn  it  now,  because  she,  who 
should  be  madly  in  love  with  life,  with  all  that  she 
has  to  live  for,  talks  of  taking  the  veil,  of  immuring 
herself  within  the  walls  of  St. " 

"  She  cannot  do  so  unless  her  husband  gives  his 
consent." 

"And  will  he?" 

"  Bruno  is  a  little  exigeant  about  the  amount  that 
Alixe  shall  give  him  before  he  will  agree,"  said  Ma- 
dame. 

"Bless  him  for  that,"  said  Quentin,  "no  matter 
what  his  motives  are." 

"  Alixe  does  not  wish  to  go  to  the  sisterhood  empty- 
handed,  and  that  is  why " 

"  Poor  soul !  driven  out  of  the  world,  out  of  the  sun- 
shine! Driven  away  from  the  love  and  happiness 
that  she  might  possess,  to  find " 

"  To  find  peace,  Mr.  Quentin,  so  his  dear  Grace 


366  THE  AECHBISHOP  A:ND  THE  LADY 

says,  to  find  peace,  and  I,  a  good  Catholic,  cannot  con- 
tradict him.  I  may  confess  to  you  that  I  am  not  over 
pleased  at  this  desire  of  Alixe's,  because  I  lose  more 
than  any  one.  I  lose  a  country  home  where  I  can  run 
down  for  a  week  when  I  am  tired  of  Paris.  I  lose  a 
relative  whose  title  is  the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,  and 
Alixe,  with  all  her  failings,  is  rather  generous  in  the 
way  of  presents.  Here  is  what  she  sent  me  the  other 
day."  Madame  stretched  out  a  plump  arm  and 
showed  Quentin  a  bracelet  containing  a  jewel-mounted 
watch.  "  She  said  she  should  need  nothing  now  but  a 
simple  timepiece  to  remind  her  when  the  hour  arrives 
for  her  devotions ;  in  fact,  the  convent  bell  should  do 
for  that.  You  see  what  I  lose,  Mr.  Quentin.  Much 
more  than  you,  who  hardly  know  her." 

"You  lose  a  daughter,"  returned  Quentin,  "who 
has  been  all  kindness  and  gentleness,  no  matter  what 
your  attitude  toward  her  has  been.  I  unfortunately 
overheard " 

"What!  What  did  you  hear?"  asked  Madame, 
paling  under  her  color. 

Quentin  did  not  answer.  He  arose.  "  That  is  all 
beside  the  question,"  he  said.  "Then,  as  you  will 
tell  me  nothing,  I  will  leave  you.  I  had  hoped  that 
you  would  be  willing  to  relieve  my  tortured  mind 
somewhat.  I  wish  you  every  happiness,  Madame; 
but  I  hope  never  to  see  you  again  until  jon  can  tell 
me  that  that  unhappy  soul  has  come  to  her  senses 
through  some  kind  and  urging  word  from  you." 

"  I  told  you,  Mr.  Quentin,  if  you  remember,"  said 
Madame,  with  heightened  color,  "  that  I  am  not  anx- 
ious to  have  her  take  up  the  conventual  life.  But  you 
should  talk  with  the  Archbishop;  he  is  much  more 
influential  with  her  than  I  am." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  Al^D  THE  LADY  367 

"I  will  go  to  the  Archbishop,"  said  Quentin. 

"And  remember,"  said  Madame,  "that  whatever  he 
tells  you,  and  whatever  j^ou  hear  of  her  whereabouts, 
she  herself  has  expressed  the  desire  that  no  one  will 
interfere  with  her  now ;  and  do  as  she  wishes,  I  beg 
of  you." 

Across  Madame's  mind's  eye  had  flashed  the  pic- 
ture of  Quentin 's  going  down  to  the  Abbey,  and  the 
meeting,  which,  under  the  guise  of  friendship,  would 
cover  a  stronger  feeling.  As  is  quite  natural,  she 
judged  others  by  what  she  herself  would  have  done, 
and  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  her  recently 
lost  friend  should  so  suddenly  fill  her  place,  more 
than  fill  it,  with  another,  and  that  other  her  daughter, 
Alixe. 

As  for  Quentin,  he  would  have  said  that  Madame 
had  never  filled  the  niche  where  Alixe  was  enshrined; 
in  fact,  that  she  had  been  but  a  dear  friend,  a  devoted 
friend,  with  an  embarrassing  amount  of  attention 
toward  himself,  a  much  younger  person,  and  nothing 
more.  Quentin  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak  again. 
He  bowed  himself  hurriedly  out,  with  the  fixed  idea 
that  the  Archbishop  was  now  the  only  one  to  solve 
the  difficulty  for  him.  As  he  came  into  the  outer 
hall,  and  started  toward  the  general  stair,  never  too 
light  in  Paris  houses,  he  heard  a  sound,  a  sort  of  hiss- 
ing sound  it  was,  which  fell  suddenly  upon  his  ear. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  see  a  little  figure  standing  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  corridor.  The  arm  of  this  lit- 
tle person  was  outstretched,  and  was  beckoning  des- 
perately with  claw-like  finger. 

He  approached  nearer  and  found  that  it  was  Made- 
moiselle, who  stood  under  the  hanging,  unlighted 
lamp. 


368  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Have  you  lieard  tlie  news? "  she  asked. 

"No,  what  news?  "  asked  Quentin. 

"Thenewsof  Gartha." 

"No."  Quentin  was  mildly  interested.  News  of 
Alixe  was  what  he  wished.  "Is  the  child  here?  Is 
she  well?  " 

"  Then  you  have  not  heard !  She  has  been  nearly 
killed.  It  was  with  the  explosives  at  the  Abbey." 
Mademoiselle  was  voluble  in  her  own  tongue. 

"  Poor  little  Gartha !  "  said  Quentin  in  a  softened 
voice.     "Who  was  with  her?  " 

"Her  father  was  there,  and  I  was  there.  They 
telegraphed  for  her  aunt " 

"Her  aunt " 

"  The  Duchesse  di  Brazzia.  Hush !  Come  down  to 
the  premier  etage.  She  watches  like  a  cat.  She  will 
think  I  am  telling  you.  I  saw  you  come  in.  I  was 
in  the  street  on  a  small  errand.  I  waited  until  your 
long  talk  with  Madame  was  over.  Come  down  here ! 
There ! " 

Mademoiselle  had  gone  hurriedly  down  the  flight 
of  stairs;  and  not  any  too  soon,  for  the  door  of 
Madame 's  apartment  opened,  and  some  one  came  out 
upon  the  landing,  stood  there  for  one  moment,  and 
then  went  back,  and  the  door  was  closed. 

"  She  said  I  was  not  to  tell  you  if  you  came,  but  I 
see  no  harm  in  it.  Why  should  one  tell  a  falsehood 
if  there  is  nothing  to  gain  by  it?  If  there  were  any 
good  reason,  why  then " 

"Is  Gartha  much  hurt?  "  asked  Quentin  anxiously. 

"She  was  badly  burned."  Mademoiselle's  mous- 
tache quivered  with  emotion  for  the  child,  whom  she 
really  loved,  and  who  in  return  liked  her  so  little. 
"  But  the  English  doctor  is  bringing  her  through. " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  369 

"  And  the  Duchesse  is  there?  "  There  was  a  note  of 
joy  in  Quentin's  voice  that  Mademoiselle  could  not 
fail  to  remark. 

"  You  will  not  tell  that  I  told?  " 

"No,  certainly  not,"  said  Quentin.  "Do  you  sup- 
pose that  I  wish  to  get  you  into  trouble  with " 

He  motioned  with  his  head  upward. 

"And  you  will  not  go  there?  " 

"No,  not  unless  I  am  asked  to  go." 

"You  will  not  be  asked  to  go,"  said  Mademoiselle. 
"  Yesterday  she  talked  of  you — Gartha,  I  mean,  and 
her  father  said  that  he  should  bring  you  back  with 
him  from  Paris ;  but  her  aunt,  the  Duchess,  said  de- 
cidedly, no,  there  was  no  need  of  it,  and  that  she 
could  receive  no  one  now." 

Quentin's  look  of  mortification  did  not  pass  un- 
noticed by  Mademoiselle.  "It  is  right,"  she  said. 
"  No  lady  of  the  Duchess's  position  can  receive  a  gen- 
tleman  at  her  house,  and  a  young  man  like  yourself — 
Monsieur  Valery  has  strange  ideas — but " 

"We  may  trust  to  the  Duchess  to  keep  him 
straight,"  said  Quentin,  with  a  bitter  little  laugh. 

"Certainemeut,"  answered  Mademoiselle  in  a  per- 
plexed tone.  "  Gartha  is  getting  on  well.  Mr.  Valery 
is  to  come  up  to  town  in  a  day  or  two." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  more,  now,"  said  Quentin.  "I 
have  made  myself  obnoxious  enough,  I  fear;  but  I 
shall  go  to  see  the  Archbishop.  Where  will  Mr.  Val- 
ery be  when  he  comes  to-morrow?  " 

Mademoiselle  gave  him  the  name  of  Valery's  hotel, 
and  then,  as  she  heard  a  footstep  above,  she  turned 
away  and  waddled  puffily  up  the  stairs.  As  Quentin 
left  the  house  he  walked  close  along  the  wall.  He 
did  not  cross  the  street,  for  he  felt  certain  that  Madame 
24 


370  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

was  lying  in  wait  to  see  liim  come  out,  and  the  poor 
little  Weasel,  to  prevent  Madame  from  discovering  that 
they  had  met  and  talked  together,  would  be  obliged 
to  stretch  her  mendacity  to  the  utmost  limit.  There 
are  wonderful  possibilities  in  an  apartment  house,  as 
Quentin  had  just  found  to  his  satisfaction,  and  Made- 
moiselle was  discovering  how  much  more  could  be  ac- 
complished here  sub  rosa  than  at  the  Abbey.  When 
Mademoiselle  entered  the  apartment,  she  found  Ma- 
dame standing  at  the  window  drumming  with  her 
fingers  on  the  pane.  The  day  was  chilly,  and  the 
long  windows  were  closed.  Her  face  was  pressed 
close  to  the  glass,  and  she  was  straining  her  eyes  first 
to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left.  Evidently  her  es- 
pionage had  met  with  no  reward. 

"  Oh !  it  is  you.  Did  you  meet  Mr.  Quentin? " 
said  Madame. 

"  Monsieur  Quentin ! "  Mademoiselle's  tone  ex- 
pressed all  that  there  was  of  astonished  surprise. 
"Has  he  been  here?  " 

"Don't  tell  me  that  you  have  not  seen  him.  Made- 
moiselle, for  he  left  me  not  more  than  fifteen  minutes 
ago!" 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you  that  I  have  not  seen  Monsieur 
Quentin,  Madame " 

"There,"  said  Madame  triumphantly.  "What  did 
I  suspect ! " 

"And  why  suspect,  Madame?  I  did  see  Monsieur 
Quentin,  it  is  true ;  but  that  is  not  saying  that  I  have 
spoken  with  him.  Monsieur  came  out  of  the  door  as 
I  was  hurrying  back  from  the  Eue  de  la  Tremoille. 
He  went  in  the  direction  of  the  Champs  Elysees ;  he 
seemed  to  be  in  too  much  haste  to  stop  and  speak  to 
me;  but  then,  Madame — "  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  371 

ders — "I  am  only  a  poor  gouvernante,  a  companiou, 
and  old.  The  Messieurs  are  for  the  young  and  the 
beautiful,  not  for  the  elder  ladies  like  to  you  and 
to  me." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  make  comparisons, 
Mademoiselle,"  said  Madame  sharply.  "My  age  is 
not  to  be  mentioned  with  yours." 

"  Monsieur  has  so  handsome  a  back ;  so  young  a 
back,"  said  Mademoiselle.  "I  saw  it,  his  back.  I 
thought  that  perhaps  he  had  heard  of  Gartha's  acci- 
dent, and  had  come  to  ask  about  her." 

"  Indeed,  then,  he  has  not  heard  anything  at  all  of 
Mademoiselle  Gartha's  accident.  Mademoiselle,  and 
I  forbid  you,  if  you  should  meet  him,  and  speak  with 
him,  to  mention  it." 

Mademoiselle  smiled  internally.  Almost  all  of  her 
smiles  were  internal,  and  while  she  lived  with  Ma- 
dame they  were  also  eternal. 

"AVhat  are  you  smiling  at?  " 

"I,  Madame? — I  smiling?" 

"You  will  remember  what  I  have  just  said." 

"I  shall  remember,  Madame." 

"  I  believe  that  she  has  seen  and  talked  with  him. 
I  wonder  how  much  she  has  told  him,"  mused 
Madame.  "  Oh,  dear !  If  every  one  wouldn't  always 
try  to  put  their  finger  into  every  one  else's  pie." 


XLH. 

QuENTm  thought  a  good  deal  of  Gartha,  his  little 
friend  at  the  Abbey,  as  he  walked  back  to  his  hotel. 
More,  perhaps,  because  of  her  companion.  Had  she 
been  alone  his  thoughts  must  necessarily  have  been 
divided.  His  joy  was  great  to  know  that  Alixe  was  not 
yet  the  perpetual  inmate  of  a  convent,  placed  there  by 
her  own  will.  Much  as  he  regretted  Gartha' s  accident, 
he  could  but  welcome  any  occurrence  which  would 
keep  Alixe  in  the  world  for  a  little  longer  time.  He 
did  not  go  to  see  the  Archbishop  after  all.  He  had 
felt  snubbed  and  humiliated  by  the  Mother  Superior, 
and  he  saw  now  that  he  had  perhaps  worn  his  heart 
upon  his  sleeve  for  these  good  people  to  peck  at. 
He  had  learned  all  that  there  was  to  know  from 
Mademoiselle,  and  Alixe  was,  at  least  for  the  time,  in 
the  home  that  she  loved.  He  would  cease  to  worry 
about  her,  and  let  things  take  their  course  for  the 
present. 

He  felt  tired.  He  had  been  living  on  his  nerves. 
He  was  neither  eating  nor  sleeping  well,  and  sud- 
denly he  decided  to  go  for  a  day  or  so  to  the  forest  of 
Fontainebleau  and  see  what  that  would  lIo  for  him. 

He  went  to  his  hotel,  sent  his  wheel  to  the  Gare  de 
Lyons,  and  two  hours  more  saw  him  on  his  way  to 
that  paradise  of  the  art  student,  male  or  female.  He 
scoured  the  paths  and  roads  of  the  forest ;  he  caught 
picturesque  glimpses  of  men  and  maids  from  Barbizon 


THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  373 

and  otlier  villages,  sitting  underneath,  the  trees,  palette 
in  hand,  or  hand  in  hand,  as  the  case  might  be.  The 
sight  of  such  incessant  and  open  love-making  palled 
upon  him,  and  after  two  days  of  hard  riding  he  re- 
turned to  town  with  a  fair  appetite  and  two  nights  of 
sleei^  to  the  good. 

Quentin  arrived  in  Paris  in  the  morning,  and,  driv- 
ing as  far  as  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde,  he  paid  his 
fare,  dismissed  his  cocher,  and  started  on  a  brisk 
walk  across  the  open  space  toward  the  Automobile 
Club.  As  his  heels  rang  smartly  out  on  the  asphalted 
pavement  he  was  all  at  once  confronted  with  a  figure 
which  he  well  knew.  This  figure  was  approaching 
him  from  the  direction  in  which  he  was  going,  and  a 
moment  after  Quentin  discovered  him,  they  met  face 
to  face. 

"  Hola !  "  said  Valery,  for  it  was  he. 

"Holloa,  Valery,"  said  Quentin,  "I  am  truly  glad 
to  see  you." 

This  autumnal  butterfly  was  resplendent  with  the 
newest  creations  of  the  tailor's  art,  the  latest  ideas  in 
color  that  his  brain  coYild  evolve.  So  gorgeous  was 
he  that  heads  were  thrust  out  of  carriage  windows, 
and  riders  on  automobiles  and  wheels  turned  to  look 
once  and  again. 

"  Take  that ! "  said  Yalerj^  as  he  doubled  his  fist 
and  gave  Quentin  a  welcoming  punch  in  the  region  of 
the  diaphragm.     "Where  are  you  bound?  " 

"What  good  luck  I  am  in,"  said  Quentin  heartily. 
"Mine  must  be  changing.  How  is  Gartha?  Better? 
AndtheDuch ?" 

"Now,  which  of  all  these  questions  do  you  want 
answered?  "  said  Valery,  with  his  broad,  good-natured 
grin. 


374  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Quentin  knew,  but  lie  could  wait.  "  Tell  me  how 
the  little  girl  is." 

"Eight  as  a  trivet,"  said  Valery,  "or  I  should  not 
have  come.  Why,  it  was  only  yesterday  that  she 
called  Alixe  and  me  to  her  bedside,  and  said  that  she 
was  near  death,  and  thought  that  she  ought  to  be 
married  to  you  before  mortification  set  in." 

Quentin  laughed  heartily,  the  first  good  laugh  that 
he  had  enjoyed  for  weeks.  They  walked  across  the 
square,  and  Yalery  gave  him  the  details  of  what  Gar- 
tha  had  considered  her  last  wishes. 

Suddenly  he  broke  off. 

"I  wonder  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Quentin. 
See  how  people  are  staring.  Turn  around.  Have 
you  anything  queer  about  your  back  or  anything?  I 
never  saw  so  much  interest  in  a  man  in  Paris  in  my 
life." 

Quentin  gave  a  comprehensive  glance  at  his  friend, 
and  walked  onward  without  explanation.  What  he 
saw  was  a  pale  gray  alpine  hat  surrounded  with  a 
band  of  white,  suffering  from  an  eruption  of  red 
spots  as  large  as  a  franc.  The  turned-over  collar  was 
striped  green  and  pink,  and  round  its  wearer's  neck 
was  a  tie  of  yellow,  whose  flowing  ends  were  knotted 
in  front  and  spread  gayly  to  the  breeze.  The  coat 
was  of  a  pale  cinnamon  shade;  the  waistcoat  of  a 
pale  blue,  ornamented  with  large  gold  buttons,  an 
open  crimson  rose  glowing  from  the  button-hole. 
Shoes  of  russet  leather  which  struggled  vainly  for 
notice  against  the  enveloping  light  gray  gaiters,  and 
long,  full,  white  trousers,  completed  the  costume  of 
the  Eastaquouere.  "  Quite  enough, "  Quentin  thought, 
"  to  cause  the  general  and  comprehensive  stare  of  the 
Paris  crowds." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  375 

"Come  over  to  Maxim's,"  said  Valery,  as  tLey 
walked  along.     "  "We  can  be  quiet  there. " 

"  Quiet  at  Maxim's,  on  the  street,  among  the  star- 
ing crowds ! "     Quentin  smiled  broadly. 

"So  Eldon's  really  going  to  take  up  the  white 
man's  burden!"  said  Valery.  "Gad!  I'm  glad  it's 
him  instead  of  me.  He'll  find  my  respected  mother- 
in-law  a  trifle  heavy  at  times.  Worse  than  a  Boer  or 
a  Kaffir  when  it  comes  to  shielding  her  from  the  cauld 
blast  on  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea.  His  plaidie  has 
got  to  be  made  of  Brussels  lace,  clasped  with  dia- 
monds, if  he  wants  to  keep  Mamasha  really  warm  and 
comfortable.  Poor  old  Eldon !  "  Valery  shook  his 
head  pityingly.  "  He  deserves  a  better  fate.  Little 
cat!" 

Quentin  sighed  as  he  remembered  pleasures  which 
he  had  resigned  with  so  much  ease.  It  had  been  a 
pleasant  friendship,  and  after  all  it  is  agreeable  to 
have  a  pretty  woman  and  a  young-looking  woman 

"  There's  a  gospel  chaj)  in  the  Quarter  that  I  wish 
they'd  employ.  He's  a  parson  for  revenue  only. 
Eldon's  sure  to  give  a  good  fee." 

"You  seem  to  be  philanthropically  inclined,"  said 
Quentin,  waking  up.  "What  is  your  interest  in  him, 
the  gospel  chap,  as  you  call  him?  " 

"None,"  said  Valery,  puffing  away  at  his  Havana; 
"  the  interest  is  in  myself,  my  best  friend.  He  has 
owed  me  shekels,  lo !  these  many  moons.  If  Eldon 
would  agree  to  hire  him,  I  might  get  out  an  injunc- 
tion on  Eldon  to  have  the  mone^'  paid  over  to  me;  it's 
the  only  way  I'll  ever  get  a  ha'penny  of  it.  But — " 
stopping  on  the  pavement  and  facing  Quentin — "  where 
have  you  been  all  this  time,  old  man?  In  hiding  from 
Mamasha?" 


376  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"I  am  just  back  from  the  country.     And  you?  " 

"  I  only  came  up  from  the  Abbey  this  morning.  I 
dismissed  my  cocher  at  the  club  and  went  out  to  find 
you.  I  have  a  message  for  you — "  Quentin's  heart 
beat  faster — "from  Gartha — "  and  ran  slow  again. 
"  What  a  noise  these  rascals  are  making.  What  do 
they  say  ?  " 

This  question  was  evoked  by  the  shouts  of  the 
newsboys.  They  were  calling  shrilly :  "  In  the 
night!"     "In  the  night!" 

Quentin  beckoned  to  one,  who  ran  up  and  waited 
while  he  felt  in  his  jpocket  for  some  silver.  Valery 
seized  the  paper. 

"Que  faites-vous?  Vous!"  said  Valery,  in  tones 
of  thunder  to  the  sharp-eyed  little  gamin.  "  What's 
all  this  noise  about?  "  He  looked  at  the  headings  as 
Quentin  paid  the  lad.  "What?  What's  this? 
Quentin !  Quentin !  Do  you  see !  Oh,  good  God ! 
Quentin,  look  here!  The  Archbishop!  The  Arch- 
bishop!" 

"  What?  "  said  Quentin.  "  What  is  it?  "  And  then 
he  recalled  the  incessant  clamor  of  the  newsboys, 
which  had  pursued  him  all  the  way  from  the  station. 
The  news  of  the  day  had  been  of  little  interest  to  him ; 
he  had  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

"  Come  into  the  club, "  said  Yalery .  "  I  cannot  read 
it  here." 

Together  the  two  entered  the  club,  and  going  up  the 
stairs  and  out  upon  the  balcony,  they  scanned  the 
headlines  for  the  details  of  the  dreadful  intelligence, 
fearing  the  worst,  hoping  for  the  best. 

As  Valery  read  aloud,  there  came  to  Quentin's 
mind  in  a  flash  the  sombre  picture  of  the  priest,  Halle, 
lurking  behind  the  angle  of  the  convent  wall,  waiting 


THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY  377 

for  the  Archbishop  to  appear.  Valery  threw  down 
Le  Matin.  "  Come  over  to  my  rooms,"  he  said,  "and 
let  us  talk  it  over.  We  can't  do  anything,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

They  came  out  into  a  dark  autumn  day,  chilly 
for  the  season,  and  went  to  Yalery 's  rooms  in  a  near- 
by hotel. 

"Send  up  some  wood,"  said  Valery,  as  he  passed 
the  office,  "and  plenty  of  it." 

Quentin  followed  him  to  the  lift,  and  they  soon 
were  in  Valery's  rooms.  They  had  not  been  long 
seated  when  some  servants  appeared,  bringing  baskets 
of  wood,  rolls  of  kindlings,  etc. 

"Come  in!"  said  Valery,  "come  in!  How  many 
more  are  there  of  you?  Please  give  my  compliments 
to  the  gerant,  and  tell  him  that  I  have  no  intention 
of  building  a  house.  There!  that  will  do,  I  haven't 
any  woodshed  up  here.  Take  back  two  or  three  cart- 
loads, and  tell  the  gerant  that  he  can  send  up  the 
rest  of  the  building  material  to-morrow." 

"That's  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  what,  in 
America,  we  call  plenty  of  wood,  in  a  Paris  hotel, "  said 
Quentin. 

Shocked  at  the  dreadful  news  that  he  had  heard, 
he  could  but  laugh  at  Valery's  dry  humor,  which,  it 
is  needless  to  say,  was  quite  wasted  on  the  French 
servants. 

"I've  trained  'em,"  laughed  Valery. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  I  will  build  the  fire,"  said 
Quentin.  "  I  don't  believe  any  one  in  the  world  knows 
more  about  fires  than  an  American  savage.  We  are 
brought  up  to  it. "  Soon  the  logs  were  blazing  hotly, 
and  the  two  men,  who  were  fast  growing  friends, 
sat  and  smoked,  and  talked  and  wondered.     Finally 


378  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Quentin  took  the  cigar  from  between  his  lips  and 
looked  at  Valery,  searchingly. 

"  Have  you  any  suspicion  who  could  have  commit- 
ted such  an  awful  deed?  " 

Valery  shook  his  head  as  he  gazed  into  the  fire. 
"No,"  said  he,  "not  the  slightest.  How  should  I 
have? " 

"I  wonder,"  said  Quentin,  after  a  short  silence, 
"  whether  I  ought  to  tell  you  what  I  know?  " 

"Certainly  you  should,  if  you  know  anything. 
But  how  could  you?  What  had  you  to  do  with  the 
Archbishop  more  than  to  meet  him  for  a  few  hours  at 
the  Abbey?" 

"  Your  question  is  a  sensible  one,  but  I  have  seen 
something,  and  taken  in  conjunction  with  what  I 
know,  it  seems  as  if  I  may  be  on  the  right  track." 

"Let's  have  it,"  said  Valery,  turning  lazily  in  his 
chair  and  looking  at  Quentin  through  partly  closed 
eyes. 

Quentin  began  his  narration.  As  he  proceeded, 
and  finally  mentioned  the  Alsatian's  name,  Valery 
shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  no,  no ! "  he  said.  "  You're  way  off,  quite  on 
the  wrong  track,  quite!  Halle  hadn't  enough  cause 
for  such  a  deed,  and  if  he  had  the  cause,  he  had  not 
the  courage.  I  never  thought  Bob  a  saint,  even  when 
he  took  holy  orders,  for  I  knew  too  much  about  him; 
but  I  can't  imagine  him,  loose-principled  as  he  was, 
enough  of  a  blackguard  to  commit  a  crime.  You  will 
have  to  think  up  some  other  solution,  Quentin.  I'm 
afraid  you  let  your  personal  prejudices  affect  your 
judgment.     You  don't  like  Halle." 

"No,"  answered  Quentin,  "I  confess  to  not  liking 
the  man  overmuch.     He  was  rude,  and,  later,  insult- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  379 

ing  to  me  at  tlie  Abbey,  where  I  was  a  guest  at  the 
same  time  with  himself;  but,  of  course,  that  does  not 
make  him  a  criminah" 

" I  don't  know,"  said  Valery.  " I  think  rudeness  a 
crime,  don't  you?  " 

"I  wonder  where  Halle  is  to-day?  "  said  Quentin. 

"  Off  with  Bruno  somewhere,  looking  up  some  me- 
chanic who  will  make  the  parts  of  their  precious 
automobile.  The  truth  is,  thej^  think  they  have  such 
a  wonderful  invention,  that  they  are  afraid  to  trust 
one  person  with  more  than  one  part,  and  so  they  get 
men  all  over  the  country  to  make  it.  Why,  those  men 
never  know  that  Bruno  is  the  Count  St.  Aubin.  He 
talks  to  them  as  if  he  were  a  paid  underling,  i)rocur- 
ing  from  them  the  skilled  labor  that  he  wishes  for  the 
Count.  I  have  heard  them  ask  to  see  the  Count,  and 
have  heard  St.  Aubin  say,  '  He  is  not  at  home  at 
present, '  or  '  He  cannot  be  disturbed. '  They  have 
never,  one  of  them,  so  much  as  laid  eyes  on  him  to 
their  knowledge.  He  employs  Halle  to  do  the  busi- 
ness part  of  it." 

"That  I  know  very  well,"  remarked  Quentin,  and 
then  he  told  Valery  about  his  encounter  with  the 
priest  in  the  glade,  and  Halle's  language,  which  Gar- 
tha's  presence  did  not  seem  to  check. 

"Oh,  I  know  Halle,"  said  Valery;  "you  can't  tell 
me  anything  about  Halle.  He  went  into  the  church 
for  a  liviug.  I  have  never  had  any  respect  for  him. 
Now,  Alixe  thinks  him  a  badly  abused  man,  and 
much  as  she  likes  the  Archbishop,  she  thinks,  and 
always  has  thought,  him  prejudiced  against  Halle.  I 
wonder  if  we  must  speak  of  the  poor  old  fellow  in  the 
past  tense.     Is  he  dead,  I  wonder?    Did  you  see?  " 

"At  first  he  was  thought  dead;  but  I  find  here  a 


380  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

later  bulletin  which  says  he  is  still  living.  It  was  late 
last  night,  when  he  was  coming  from  a  visit  to  the 
Cardinal," 

"Poor  old  man,  it  will  break  Alixe's  heart,  and 
Gartha's,  poor  little  minx!  She  said  she  would  have 
married  His  Grace  were  it  not  against  the  rules 
of  the  church,  and  you  may  come  in  only  second 
best.  There  is  a  certain  John  MacDonald  at  Bally- 
rogan " 

"My  young  nephew,  I  suppose,"  said  Quentin. 
"  I  took  him  over  there  when  I  came  out,  to  see  his 
father's  relatives.  So  Gartha  has  met  Jan,  has 
she?" 

Valery  laughed.  "  How  funny  that  is !  We  never 
mentioned  you,  and  the  boy  did  not.  To  think  that 
he  should  be  your  nephew !  " 

"The  son  of  my  only  sister,"  said  Quentin.  "She 
married  a  Scotchman  named  MacDonald,  and  he  died 
shortly  after  she  did,  leaving  the  lad  to  me." 

"We  must  have  him  over  here." 

"Perhaps,  later,"  acquiesced  Quentin. 

"I've  just  thought  of  something,  Quentin,"  said 
Valery.  "Mamasha  wanted  me  to  get  Alixe's  jewels 
from  the  banker.  She  wants  to  wear  them  at  the 
wedding.  I  forgot  all  about  it  and  Avrote  to  Alixe 
only  the  other  day.  She  gave  me  an  order  this 
morning.     Will  you  go  with  me?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Quentin,  "I  have  nothing  to  do." 

The  two  men  went  down  the  stairs  and  over  to  the 
banker's.  Quentin  followed  Valery  to  the  person  in 
charge  of  the  jewels,  and  witnessed  his  look  of  aston- 
ishment when  Valery  produced  the  order  signed  by 
the  Duchesse  di  Brazzia. 

"But    the    jewels  are  not  here,"  said  the   clerk. 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  381 

**  The  Ducliess  sent  for  tliem  only  about  three  days 
ago." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  insisted  Valery,  "  for  here  is  the  order." 

"But  I  had  another  order  very  similar  to  that,"  re- 
plied the  clerk,  "  It  did  not  look  as  fresh  as  this,  but 
it  was  an  order  all  the  same,  and  signed  by  the 
Duchess." 

"Who  presented  it?"  demanded  Valery,  who  was 
now  thoroughly  frightened. 

"Madame  Petrofsky." 

"  Did  she  say  she  wished  the  jewels?  " 

"No,  she  only  said  that  her  niece,  the  Duchess, 
wanted  them,  and  as  she  brought  me  the  signed 
order " 

"  Was  the  body  of  the  order  in  her  hand — the  Duch- 
ess's, I  mean?  " 

"No,  that  was  written  by  Madame  Petrofsky.  I 
know  her  handwriting  very  well."  The  clerk  smiled 
faintly  as  he  remembered  various  requests  for  loans 
which  were  always  in  the  end  repaid  by  the  Duchesse 
di  Brazzia. 

"That  is  very  strange,"  said  Valery.  "And  you 
say  that  Madame  Petrofsky  presented  the  order  her- 
self? " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Valery,  I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  I  waited 
on  Madame  Petrofsky.  The  jewels  are  too  valuable 
to  trust  to  an  ordinary  clerk." 

"I  must  see  about  this,"  said  Valery  as  he  walked 
out  with  Quentin.  "That  fellow  may  have  made  a 
mistake.  Mamasha  may  not  have  been  here  at  all, 
and  if  so,  Madame  la  Duchesse  Alixe  is  out  of  a  tidy 
little  sum.  You'll  excuse  my  going  off,  Quentin. 
I'll  just  run  up  and  see  Mamasha,  and  make  sure 
about  this  business." 


XLin. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  two  had  parted  that  Quen- 
tin  realized  that  he  had  learned  nothing  more  of 
Alixe  than  he  had  known  before  he  met  Yalery. 

When  Valery  arrived  at  Madame 's  apartment,  he 
was  told  b}^  Jeanne,  her  maid  of  all  work,  that  she  was 
not  at  home,  but  Mademoiselle  entertained  him  for 
the  few  moments  that  he  was  obliged  to  wait.  Valery 
was  just  about  to  take  his  departure,  when  he  heard  a 
hurried  ring  at  the  bell,  and  a  second  one  before 
Jeanne  could  go  to  the  door,  and  Madame  came  rush- 
ing in  from  the  little  entrance  hall  in  the  greatest 
haste.  She  breathed  as  if  she  had  run  all  the  way  up 
the  two  flights  from  the  street. 

"  Mademoiselle !  Mademoiselle !  Where  is  the  key 
of  my  desk?  Have  you  seen  it? "  Her  face  was 
flushed,  her  tone  was  agitated.  She  did  not  perceive 
Valery,  in  the  dark  little  salon,  but  ran  to  the  desk  in 
the  corner. 

"  Oh !  here  it  is  in  the  lock.  How  careless  of  me ! 
Thank  heaven ! "  She  snapped  the  lid  to,  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock,  and  dropped  i":  in  her  pocket,  then 
sank  into  a  low  chair,  quite  out  of  breath. 

"Has  any  one  been  in  the  room.  Mademoiselle?" 

"Yes,  I've  been  here,  Mamasha,"  said  Valery,  from 
his  dark  corner,  "and  here  I  am  still.  Gracious! 
How  you  jump,  Mamasha.     This  talk  of  getting  mar- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  383 

ried  must  liave  got  on  to  your  nerves;  but  why  it 
should,  having  become  a  fixed  habit  as  it  were " 

"  Valery  !  How  you  frighten  me !  I  had  no  idea 
that  you  were  here !  When  did  you  get  here?  What 
business  have  you  to  come  into  people's  rooms  and 
sit  in  a  dark  corner?  It's  almost  like  spying  upon 
them,  Valery.     How  can  you  make  me  so  nervous?" 

"I  didn't  want  to  make  you  nervous,  dear  old 
Mamasha.  I  just  dropped  in  to  speak  to  you  about 
a  little  matter  of  which  you  wrote  me  some  time 
ago." 

"  But  you  have  already  sent Mademoiselle,  will 

you  kindly  withdraw?"  Mademoiselle  glided  from 
the  room  leaving  the  door  open  the  width  of  a  crack. 
"  Fermez,  fermez !  "  called  Madame. 

Mademoiselle  gave  the  door  a  decided  little  bang, 
so  promptly  that  it  told  at  once  of  her  still  being  in 
the  vicinit}^  and  then  the  door  flew  open  again. 

Madame  crossed  the  room  and  closed  it  gently,  but 
firmly.  It  was  the  way  in  which  Madame  did  a  great 
many  things.     That  is,  when  she  was  not  nervous. 

"You  sent  me  the  second  draft,  Valery.  Oh,  you 
dear!  I  haven't  cashed  it  yet.  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  you  intend  sending  me  another  one?  " 

"  Well — ha — hem —  Such  had  not  been  my  inten- 
tion, Mamasha,  but,  since  you  remind  me  of  it " 

"  Oh,  you  dear !  "  repeated  Madame,  sinking  con- 
tentedly back  into  her  seat.  Valery 's  gaze  was  fixed 
upon  the  desk  which  Madame  had  just  locked  in  ner- 
vous haste.  "What's  in  that  escritoire?  "  he  asked 
bluntl3\ 

"Oh,  nothing  of  any  importance.  Only  private 
matters  of  my  own." 

"  Love  letters  from  Eldon,  I  suppose. "     Madame, 


384  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

who  had  looked  down  in  embarrassment,  looked  up 
and  smiled  at  this  very  pleasant  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty. 

"I  dropped  in  to  see  you  about  another  little  mat- 
ter, Mamasha.  You  remember  you  wrote  me  some 
time  ago  that  you  wanted  to  borrow  Alixe's  jewels  for 
the  wedding,  and  I  thought- " 

"  Valery,"  said  Madame  hurriedly,  "I  have  decided 
not  to  ask  for  them  now.  I  do  not  need  them.  Lord 
Eldon  has  given  me  some  very  handsome  things,  and 
I  find  those  will  be  enough." 

"  And  you  don't  want  me  to  get  them  for  you,  Ma- 
masha? "  said  Valery,  very  distinctly. 

"  No,  no !  I  beg  of  you,  Yalery,  dear,  do  not  go. 
I  have  been  thinking  that  it  was  rather  presuming  to 
ask  them  of  Alixe,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  say  noth- 
ing more  about  the  matter." 

"  But  I  have  an  order  from  Alixe  that  I  brought  up 
with  me  to-day  from  the  Abbey." 

Madame  gave  a  sudden  short  gasp.  Yalery  knew 
what  sort  of  feeling  she  was  experiencing,  but  she  did 
not  know  that  he  understood  the  meaning  of  the  gasp. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  said,  "  Then  I  need  not  have  done 
it  after  all !  " 

"  Well,  Yalery,  dear,  please  do  nothing  about  it. 
If  Alixe  is  going  into  the  sisterhood,  it  would  be  well 
to  get  them  out  beforehand ;  but  at  present  we  had 
better  wait  and  see  what  happens." 

"And  you  have  asked  nothing  about  Gartha, 
Mamasha ! " 

"You  have  not  given  me  time,  Yalery,"  exclaimed 
Madame,  "with  all  your  queer  statements,  and  both- 
ers, and  suggestions.     How  is  the  dear  child?  " 

"  She  has  been  very  ill.     Yesterday " 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  385 

"Do  you  think  it  will  prevent  the  wedding?  "  asked 
Madame  anxiously. 

"Well,  I  hardly  know,"  answered  Yalery;  "yester- 
day she  wanted  me  to  call  the  servants  round  her  to 
bid  them  farewell." 

"  Poor  child !  Poor  child ! "  said  Madame,  who  had 
fits  of  caring  for  Gartha.  "  And  if  she  is  ill,  why  are 
you  here?  " 

Valery  told  Madame  of  the  scene  in  Gartha' s  room, 
holding  for  the  moment  his  other  business  in  abey- 
ance. At  this  amusing  tale  Madame  recovered  her 
spirits,  and  laughed  again,  the  nervous  look  passing 
from  her  face. 

"And  you  have  heard  of  the  Archbishop?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Madame,  "that  is  what  took  me  out 
this  morning.  I  was  going  over  there  to  inquire 
when  suddenly  I  missed  my  key." 

"As  you  will  miss  it  again,"  said  Valery,  picking 
up  the  key  from  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Valery  !  How  hard  it  is  to  keep 
one's  keys."  She  held  out  her  hand.  "  Thank  you, 
Valery."  She  still  held  out  her  hand.  "  Come,  give 
me  my  key." 

"  Why  are  you  so  anxious  for  this  key,  Mamasha?  " 

"  Why— why— it— it— is  my  key,  is  it  not?  Why 
should  I  not  have  it?  " 

"Because  you  aren't  the  proper  person  to  have  it. 
I  intend  to  keep  this  key,  and  I  intend  to  use  it,  and 
I  intend " 

"  To— to— do  what,  Valery?  Oh,  Valery  !  what  do 
you  mean  to  do?  " 

Madame  was  deathly  white,  all  but  the  small  red 
spots  on  either  cheek,  which  no  amount  of  fear  could 
wash  away.     "  Are  you  going  to  open  my  desk?  " 
25 


386  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"With  your  usual,  unerring  accuracy,  Mamasha, 
dear,  you  have  called  the  turn." 

"  Why  should  you  open  my  desk?  " 

"  Simply  because  I  want  to  see  what  you  guard  so 
carefully  inside." 

"You  are  impertinent,  Valery— as  I  told  you,  only 
a  few  private " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  afraid.  I  have  no  wish  to  read  El- 
don's  vaporings  to  my  mother-in-law.  I  merely 
wish " 

"To  do  what?" 

"To  open  the  desk." 

"  You  said  that  before,  and  for  what,  Yalery  ?  Why 
do  you  wish  to  open  it?  " 

"It  is  a  whim  of  mine." 

"You  shall  not  open  my  desk." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  dear  old  Mamasha,  but  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  have  to.     I  am  stronger  than  you." 

"You  great,  African  brute!"  said  Madame. 
"Would  you  open  my  desk  by  force?  " 

"Don't  call  names,  dear  Mamasha.  Yes,  I  would 
open  your  desk  by  force,  and  here  goes."  Valery 
arose  and  took  a  step  toward  the  desk. 

"  Yalery !  Valery  !  Do  not  do  such  a  thing.  Let 
me  open  my  own  desk;  give  me  the  key." 

"Very  well,  Mamasha.  Some  one  has  to  do  it; 
why  not  you?  " 

Madame  took  the  key  from  Valery,  and  approached 
the  desk,  slowly,  looking  at  her  son-in-law  over  her 
shoulder,  with  a  sidelong  glance. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it.  Must  I  unlock  my  desk 
for  you?  " 

"  Yes,  Mamasha,  dear,  as  I  told  you,  I  am  stronger 
than  you — and  a  great  deal  more  honest— — " 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  387 

"But  not  as  quick-witted,"  exclaimed  Madame,  as 
she  suddenly  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  room,  stooped, 
and  pushed  the  key  down  into  the  opening  of  the 
American  register  near  which  she  stood.  There  was 
dead  silence,  broken  only  by  the  key  as  it  went  jan- 
gling on  its  journey  to  the  regions  below. 

Valery  bit  his  lip. 

"  Now,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  "  Madame's  tone 
was  more  than  triumphant. 

"  You  little  cat ! "  said  Valery.  "  Even  if  you  are  my 
mother-in-law,  I  cannot  be  as  respectful  as  your  age 
demands.     You  little  cat ! " 

She  sank  back  on  the  sofa.  His  breath  came  fast, 
he  glared  at  Madame. 

"I — I — am  a  very  young  mother-in-law,  Valery," 
said  Madame,  half  crying. 

"  Yes,  but  a  little  cat  all  the  same.  You  are  only 
putting  off  the  evil  day,  Mamasha,  dear,  for  that  desk 
must  be  opened." 

"And  why?  It  is  my  personal  property."  Ma- 
dame seemed  to  gain  courage  from  her  own  attempt  to 
appear  courageous.  "  Valery,  if  you  do  not  get  up 
from  that  seat  at  once,  and  go  out  of  that  door,  I  will 
send  for  the  police  to  put  you  out." 

"  Oh,  Mamasha,  Mamasha !  That  would  indeed  be 
a  scandal!  That  would  be  a  scene! — to  put  your 
own  son-in-law  out  of  the  house ;  but  nothing  to  the 
scandal  that  would  happen  later." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Madame,  trembling, 
and  breathing  very  fast. 

"  You  had  better  have  the  lock  picked,  Mamasha, 
and  let  me  look  into  the  desk.  That  will  save  your 
reputation." 

**  No,  Valery,  I  will  not  have  the  lock  picked,  nor 


388  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

will  I  let  you  examine  my  escritoire. "  Slie  went  to 
the  bell  and  rang  it.  "  We  shall  see  whose  wits  are 
the  better,  yours  or  mine."  To  the  maid  who  ap- 
peared: "Jeanne,  telephone  for  a  sergent  de  ville." 

"But,  Madame " 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,  telephone  for  a  sergent  de  ville. " 

"  You  had  better  not,  Jeanne,  my  good  girl,  if  you 
know  what  is  good  for  you,"  said  Yalery. 

"  Jeanne,  will  you  do  as  I  tell  you  and  telephone 
for  a  sergent  de  ville?  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  the  outer  door  of  the  apart- 
ment shutting  loudly.  "Who  is  that?"  called  Ma- 
dame. "Go  at  once,  Jeanne." 

"Oh,  Madame, "  Jeanne  was  bathed  in  tears,  "Mon- 
sieur Yalery  has  been  so  good  to  me " 

"There,  Mamasha,"  said  Yalery  triumphantly. 
"You  see  what  louis  and  laughter  are,  as  against 
francs  and  frowns." 

"  I  would  scorn  to  buy  affection, "  said  Madame. 

"I  know  you  would,  Mamasha,"  said  Yalery,  "it 
might  deplete  your  bank  account."  He  turned  to  the 
maid.     "Jeanne,  go  for  a  locksmith." 

"Oui,  Monsieur,"  said  Jeanne. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Jeanne. " 

"I  go  for  my  bonnet.  Monsieur  Yalery,"  said 
Jeanne,  to  whom  Madame  had  already  given  warning. 
Yalery  ran  to  the  door,  and  called  after  Jeanne  down 
the  corridor.  "I  have  changed  my  mind,  Jeanne. 
Go  for  a  policeman,  and  bring  two  if  you  can  find 
them."  Jeanne  flew  along  the  hall,  Madame  close 
behind  her.  Since  Monsieur  Yalery  wished  the  ser- 
gents  de  ville,  Jeanne,  expecting  to  have  her  little 
bonnet  snatched  from  her  hand,  turned  defiantly  to- 
ward Madame  as  she  took- it  down  from  the  peg;  but 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  389 

Madame  was  not  worrying  her  mind  about  bonnets. 
She  dexterously  slipped  the  key  from  the  lock,  in- 
serted it  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  and  before  Jeanne, 
who  had  gone  into  an  inner  room  to  set  her  bonnet 
straight  at  the  glass,  returned,  Madame  had  locked 
her  within  the  room. 

"There,"  called  Madame,  "  if  you  want  the  sergent 
de  ville,  then  I  do  not.  We  have  never  agreed  very 
well,  have  we,  Valery?" 

"  It  is  a  lady's  privilege  to  change  her  mind,"  called 
back  Valery. 

"  What  is  that  rattling  sound,  Mamasha  dear? " 
asked  he,  as  he  came  through  the  dining-room  into 
the  corridor  and  halted  just  outside  the  kitchen 
door. 

"Another  key,  Valery  dear,"  Madame  smiled 
sweetly. 

"  You'll  have  the  register  full  of  keys,  won't  you, 
dear  old  Mamasha? "  There  was  war  in  Valery's 
eye  as  he  advanced  toward  the  little  woman. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  shrieked  Madame.  There  was  no 
answer.  Mademoiselle  had  suddenly  left  the  apart- 
ment. 

"  Now,  Mamasha, "  said  Valery  persistentlj',  "  I  in- 
tend to  see  into  that  desk,  sooner  or  later.  I  can  go 
out  and  lock  you  in,  by  physical  force,  a  means  which 
I  hesitate  to  use  upon  a  lady,  more  than  all  upon  my 
own  dear  mother-in-law,  and  I  can  go  down-stairs 
and  get  the  concierge  to  send  some  one  up  here  to 
take  the  desk  away.  The  alternative  is  that  I  can 
smash  it  with  my  foot." 

Madame  glanced  at  the  russet  shoes. 

"  They're  big  enough  for  anything, "  said  she.  Her 
Bon-in-law  made  a  motion  to  approach  the  desk. 


390  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Don't  do  that,  Valery,"  Madame  was  again  tearful 
and  submissive. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  shall  go  out  and  send  for  a 
locksmith  to  release  my  friend,  Jeanne " 

Madame  sniffed  and  bridled.  "  Your  friend, 
Jeanne ! " 

"And  while  he  is  here  he  can  open  the  desk,"  Val- 
ery continued,  as  if  his  remarks  had  not  been  inter- 
rupted. "Now,  which  will  you  prefer,  dearest  Ma- 
masha?  " 

"  Valery,  you  are  a  great,  big,  overgrown,  African 
savage.  What  Allaire  ever  wanted  to  marry  you 
for " 

"Poor  little  Allaire,"  said  Valery,  with  a  sigh 
which  always  accompanied  the  mention  of  his  dead 
wife,  "I  don't  think  she  did,  Mamasha.  It  was  you 
who  thrust  her  at  me,  poor  little  dear !  and  I  thank 
you  every  day  of  my  life  for  two  years  of  real  happi- 
ness.    I  made  her  happy,  too." 

Here  was  Madame's  opportunity. 

"  And  how  badly  dear  Allaire  would  feel  to  know 
that  her  poor  little  mother  was  being  bullied  by  a 
great  big  brute  of  a " 

Valery  rose  shamefacedly. 

"That  is  true,  Mamasha.  That  is  true.  If  you 
will  tell  me  honestly  what  is  in  that  desk,  I  will  go 
away  and  leave  you." 

"  You  will  go  away  and  leave  me " 

"Yes,  if  you  tell  me  truly." 

"  And  you  won't  tell  Alixe?  " 

"I  will  tell  no  one,  Mamasha." 

"  Well,  then,  they  are  Alixe's  jewels." 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Valery,  in  tones  full  of  convic- 
tion. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  391 

"How  did  you  know  it?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  tha  banker's,  for  one  thing ;  for  an- 
other, because  you  said  that  you  had  decided  not  to 
ask  for  them." 

"And  what  did  he  tell  you— the  banker,  I  mean?  " 
asked  Madame  nervously. 

"  He  told  me  that  you  had  brought  an  order  from 
Alixe.  Oh,  Mamasha!  Mamasha!  A  forger,  and  at 
your  early  age." 

"It  is  false,  Valery.  I  had  an  order  signed  in 
Alixe's  handwriting." 

"When  did  she  sign  it?  Ah,  Mamasha,  Mama- 
sha, that  statement  is  what  the  Americans  call  '  too 
thin.'     C'est  cousu  de  fil  blanc." 

Madame  hesitated. 

"When?"  asked  Valery. 

"Well — well — Valery,  she — she — signed  it — some, 
some  years  ago." 

"  Some  years  ago !  Why,  she  wasn't  married  some 
years  ago." 

"It  depends  on  what  you  call  some  years;  say  two 
years  ago." 

"  There  are  all  ways  of  looking  at  things ;  observez 
I'integrite  en  tout,  Mamasha." 

"I  am  willing  to  confess  to  you,  Valery,"  said 
Madame  in  a  serious  tone,  "  that  it  was  not  lately — 
in  fact,  that  the  order  for  the  jewels  was  written  after 
the  signature  was  placed  upon  the  paper ;  but  that  it 
is  Alixe's  signature,  you  yourself  would  be  obliged  to 
swear  in  a  court  of  justice." 

"Let  me  see  it,"  said  Valery. 

"They  have  it  at  the  bank,"  said  Madame. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  have  Alixe's  signature?  " 

"  Why,  there  was  an  old  writing  pad  on  which  I 


392  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

made  Alixe  practise  her  name  just  before  she  married 
the  dear  Duke.  I  made  her  write  'Alixe,  Duchesse 
di  Brazzia,'  'Alixe,  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,'  several 
times " 

"  Not  knowing  how  soon  you  would  wish  to  use  it. 
Oh,  Mamasha,  Mamasha !     Fie,  oh,  fie !  " 

"  There  was  no  harm  in  it,"  said  Madame,  speaking 
very  fast.  "You  needn't  be  so  collet  monte,  Valery ! 
Valery !  a  poor  woman  who  lives  as  I  do,  one  little 
bonne  a  tout  faire,  no  luxuries,  no  bank  account,  who 
lives,  you  may  say,  on  charity,  and  has  a  chance  to 
marry  a  man  of  title " 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  ring  at  the  outer  bell. 

"I  will  go,"  said  Madame. 

"And  I  will  stay  with  the  jewels,"  said  Yalery. 

Madame  jiassed  out  of  the  door  to  return  almost 
immediately,  followed  by  Jeanne,  who  was  in  turn  fol- 
lowed by  two  rather  sturdy-looking  sergents  de  ville. 

"It  is  the  lady,"  began  Jeanne  in  her  weak,  fright- 
ened voice. 

"  How  under  heaven,  Jeanne " 

"  Through  the  window  by  the  escalier  de  service, 
Monsieur.     It  is  the  lady.  Messieurs,  whom " 

Madame  thrust  Jeanne  aside  and  faced  the  fore- 
most of  the  men.  "I  order  you  to  arrest  this  man," 
she  said,  pointing  to  Yalery.  "  He  is  in  my  apart- 
ments making  a  disturbance." 

"Monsieur  I'officier,"  began  Yalery,  but  Madame 
was  too  quick  for  him,  with  her  sweet  voice,  and 
sweeter  ways,  and  sweetest  eyes. 

"Officer,"  she  repeated,  "arrest  that  man."  Ma- 
dame's  tone  was  tragic.  The  officer  gazed  at  her  a 
moment. 

"Is  it  that  I  must  arrest  the  Monsieur?  " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  393 

"  Yes,  yes !  You  see  that  I  am  alone.  This  man 
forces  himself  upon  me — he " 

"I  hope  that  the  Monsieur  will  pardon  me,"  said 
the  oflficer.  "  I  hope  that  the  Monsieur  will  make  no 
disturbance.  I  should  not  like  to  use  force  upon  the 
Monsieur." 

"Faith,  an'  I  could  do  for  the  two  of  you,"  said 
Valery, 

"  This  is  an  insane  man,"  said  Madame.  " How  he 
got  in  here  I  do  not  know."  The  sergent  de  ville's 
eyes  wandered  and  wondered  over  Valery 's  butterfly 
costume  and  angry  face. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  "  he  demanded  shortly. 

Valery  laughed,  the  laugh  was  a  sardonic  one ;  in 
that  laugh  the  sergent  de  ville  heard  the  proof  of  in- 
sanity which  Madame  had  declared  was  there.  He 
glanced  behind  him  to  see  that  his  double  was  within 
safe  distance.  There  was  evidence  of  hard  muscle 
underneath  the  light  sleeve  of  H.  Valery,  Esq. 

"Mamasha,"  said  Valery,  with  an  unpleasant  glit- 
ter of  the  eye,  "  I  would  smash  that  desk  into  splin- 
ters, but  for  the  distress  that  it  would  cause  Alixe. 
I  don't  want  her  to  be  disgraced  more  than  necessary 
by  her  own  mother." 

"  Not  to  mention  yourself,"  added  Madame  quickly. 
Then,  in  French,  to  the  sergent  de  ville:  "You  do 
not  understand  this  man,  Monsieur.  He  threatens  to 
break  open  my  escritoire.  It  contains  family  jewels 
and  important  papers.  You  must  arrest  him  at 
once.  Instead  of  being  crazy,  I  think  now  that  he 
is  drunk.  II  est  gris,  gris,  Monsieur,  gris  comme  un 
cordelier ! " 

"  I  hope  that  Monsieur  will  make  no  disturbance, 
that  Monsieur  will  not  compel  me  to  use  force,  but 


394  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

since  Madame  makes  this  charge — it  is  Madame 's 
apartment,  I  suppose " 

"Oh,  yes — yes — it's  her  apartment  fast  enough." 

Valery  arose  and  saluted  Madame  in  the  most  ras- 
taquouerian  manner,  his  hat  sweeping  the  floor. 

"Mamasha,"  said  he,  "I  bow  to  your  superior  wit, 
and  cleverness,  and  beauty.  I  believe  you'd  flirt  with 
the  coal  carrier.  Good-by  !  You  win  this  time,  dear 
old  Mamasha,  but  next  time  look  out !  " 

As  Yalery  walked  down  the  stairs,  Madame  called 
shrilly,  "  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  get  me  a  fiacre.  I  must  go 
at  once  to  the  bank,  and  you  must  come  with  me." 
Jeanne,  now  that  her  champion  Yalery  had  gone,  es- 
corted by  two  officers,  the  sight  of  whom  causes  the 
bourgeois  element  to  shake  as  if  in  the  clutches  of  a 
chill,  Jeanne,  the  vacillating,  wilted  and  sought  a 
fiacre. 

"And  Mademoiselle,  when  she  returns,  Madame?  " 

"  She  should  not  have  gone  out,"  Madame  answered 
her  bonne  a  tout  f aire ;  "  she  can  wait  now,  as  other 
people  will  have  to  do."  Madame  locked  the  outer 
door  and  slipped  the  key  within  her  pocket.  "  Tell 
him  to  stop  at  a  locksmith's  coming  home,  Jeanne. 
I  shall  need  him  an  hour  later.  To  the  bank !  "  said 
Madame  to  the  cocher,  "  and  if  you  drive  well,  double 
pourboire." 

When  Madame  entered  the  bank,  she  at  once  en- 
dorsed a  large  draft,  of  whom  the  payee  was  Annie 
Petrofsky,  the  payer  H.  Yalery. 

"Will  you  deposit  any  part  of  this,  Madame  Petrof- 
sky ?  "  asked  the  paying  teller. 

"No,  I'll  take  it  all,  thank  you;  all."  Madame 
sighed  happily  as  she  received  the  money. 

"  Just  think  what  he  might  have  done !  "  she  com- 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  395 

mimed  with  herself,  as  she  counted  out  the  rouleaux 
of  gold.  "  If  he  were  not  in  the  police  office  at  this 
moment,  explaining  matters,  he  might  be  counter- 
manding the  order  for  this  delightfully  large  sum  of 
louis." 

As  Madame  returned  to  her  apartment  she  halted 
the  cocher  twice:  once  to  send  a  locksmith  to  her 
rooms,  and  the  other  to  write  a  telegram.  Her  bride- 
groom, like  all  impatient,  middle-aged  lovers,  would 
have  been  glad  to  have  fixed  an  earlier  date  for  the 
day  of  the  wedding.  Madame  had  put  him  coyly 
off,  but  to-day  she  seemed  to  think  better  of  it.  Her 
telegram  was  addressed  to  Lord  Eldon,  Eldon  Towers, 
England,  and  read : 

"  I  feel  now  as  you  do.  Can  arrange  for  the  day 
after  to-morrow  if  you  can  get  here.  Let  me  know. 
Cannot  have  a  grand  affair  on  account  of  accident  to 
Gartha.     Answer. " 

Lord  Eldon  was  all  smiles  as  he  started  for  the  lit- 
tle station  near  his  place — smiles  not  driven  away  by 
Madame's  leaving  him  to  i)iiy  the  charges  for  the 
message.  H§  sped  swiftly  on  Love's  wings  to  the  con- 
tinent. 

On  the  day  after  Valery  had  been  asked  to  leave 
Madame's  apartments,  and  had  acquiesced,  had  been 
escorted  to  the  police  office,  had  sent  for  an  influential 
French  friend,  and  had  explained,  and  been  apologized 
to,  he  was  sitting  in  his  rooms  wondering,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  how  he  could  get  even  with  Mamasha.  As 
thus  he  sat,  a  telegram  was  brought  in.  It  was  early 
morning,  and  the  Rastaquouere  was  sipping  his  black 
coffee  in  a  suit  of  pajamas  which  made  him  more  re- 
semble a  tropical  butterfl}^  than  anything  he  had  ever 
worn.     The  ground  of  his  breakfast  suit  was  yellow; 


396  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

the  bars  were  very  broad  and  of  deep  blue,  with  spaces 
between.  There  was  an  occasional,  cross  stripe  of  red, 
which  completed  a  pattern  that  could  only  be  well 
shown  by  two  arbiters  of  fashion. 

Valery  made  a  wry  face  and  set  down  his  cup.  He 
rang,  and  the  spruce  breakfast  waiter  appeared  at 
once.  H.  Valery,  Esquire,  gave  too  generous  tips 
for  any  gar9on  to  keep  him  waiting  one  moment  long- 
er than  necessary. 

"  Alphonse, "  he  said,  in  the  best  French  that  he 
could  muster,  ''please  give  my  compliments  to  the 
maitre  d'hotel,  and  tell  him  that  I  should  like  more 
coffee  and  less  burnt  bread  crusts " 

"  But  I  assure  the  Monsieur, "  said  Alphonse,  in  the 
most  perfect  English,  "  that  the  coffee  is  made  of  pure 
coffee,  and  is  made  fresh  every  day,  and  is  bought  at 
Potin's,  and  is  made  by  the  chef,  in  the  finest  cop- 
per utensils  of  the  batterie  de  cuisine,  and  is " 

"  Tu  paries !  Charles,  tu  paries !  "  said  Yalery  in  the 
slang  of  the  day,  shaking  his  flat  hand  at  the  man 
with  a  patting  motion  in  the  air.  "  Tu  paries,  Charles ! 
Go  tell  the  maitre  d'hotel." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Alfonse  opened 
it,  to  receive  a  telegraphic  message  for  H.  Valery, 
Esquire,  which  he  handed  to  that  gentleman.  Valery 
jumped  from  his  seat.  He  forgot  his  coffee,  he  for- 
got his  wish  to  snub  Alphonse  for  his  much  speaking, 
he  seized  the  paper  and  tore  it  open  at  once.  He 
hardly  allowed  his  eyes  to  skim  along  the  lines  before 
he  dashed  the  telegram  to  the  floor,  and  began  seizing 
various  articles  of  dress,  and  crowding  them  into  a 
valise.  His  face  was  white,  his  hands  shaking  so 
that  he  could  not  hold  a  piece  of  clothing  when  he 
had  taken  it  from  the  chair. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  397 

"Send  that  lazy  Savin  up  here  at  once,"  he  said. 
"Here,  Savin,  where  have  you  been?  Pack  these 
things  at  once ;  order  me  a  cab,  somebody.  I  must  get 
away  at  once.  No,  leave  the  other  things.  Here, 
lock  up  the  rooms  and  let  us  be  off. " 

Valery  had  started  out  of  the  door  with  a  high  hat 
upon  his  head,  his  feet  thrust  into  a  pair  of  red  cloth 
slippers,  and  no  other  clothing  than  the  yellow  and 
blue  night-suit.  As  many  times  as  he  had  cut  a  cu- 
rious figure  because  of  his  florid  taste  in  dress,  this 
moment  eclipsed  them  all.  When  Alphonse  reminded 
him  that  he  could  hardly  take  the  train  in  such  a  cos- 
tume, he  growled,  then  raged,  and  wept  alternately, 
and  finally  sent  Savin  on  to  the  station  for  the  tickets. 

The  telegram  was  from  Alixe,  and  read,  "  Come  at 
once."  Naturally,  Valery 's  heart  gave  a  bound. 
Gartha  was  his  first  thought. 

"How  could  I  go  and  leave  the  child?"  he  ex- 
claimed aloud.     "How  could  I?  " 


XLIV. 

When  the  priest  had  found  himself  upon  the  wrong 
side  of  the  door,  he  shivered  again  with  fright.  His 
teeth  chattered,  he  reeled  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
head.  Then  he  listened.  He  could  hear  nothing  but 
the  vain  efforts  of  Alixe  to  push  the  great  bed  back 
into  its  proper  position.  He  dared  not  move,  for  he 
knew  that  there  were  stairs  somewhere  in  the  vicinity, 
and  he  feared  to  plunge  down  them  headlong.  He 
searched  within  his  pockets  and  found  a  few  matches. 
These  he  began  to  strike.  The  first  one  showed  him 
the  circular  stairs  leading  downward  from  the  Lady 
Abbess's  room,  and  the  others  lighted  his  way  to  the 
bottom.  He  remembered  the  door  at  the  foot  of  these 
stairs,  and  he  unbolted  it  and  stepped  forth  into  the 
night. 

The  garden  lay  bathed  in  a  mist  of  silver.  The 
tall,  red  lilies  were  bent  and  weighted  down  with  the 
moisture  of  the  night.  He  listened.  There  was  now 
no  near  sound,  he  heard  only  the  distant  whistle  of  a 
night  train,  and  he  stepped  boldly  out  and  descended 
the  steps  of  the  garden.  The  stars  were  shining  over- 
head. He  saw  them  twinkle  through  the  moonlit 
mist.  He  saw  the  dim  shape  of  the  Abbey.  He  felt 
the  cold  dew  of  midnight  on  every  blade  and  leaf  that 
his  sole  crushed  as  he  walked.  He  knew  not  where 
to  go.  The  miller's  family  had  never  liked  him,  be- 
cause of  some  real  or  fancied  attentions  which  were 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  399 

more  than  priestly  toward  Marie  Monrouge,  and  lie 
felt  tliat  Pierre  might  do  liim  bodily  violence  if  lie 
should  ask  refuge  at  the  mill.  As  Halle  walked  and 
thought,  he  stepped  within  the  ruins.  He  started 
back  fearfully,  holy  man  that  he  was !  for  there,  in  a 
remote  corner,  was  a  figure  in  some  sort  of  light  dra- 
pery. 

"Who  is  there?"  he  demanded,  though  his  knees 
shook  under  him,  proof  positive  that  he  could  be  no 
good  Catholic. 

"  Sh-h-h ! "  A  finger  was  raised  as  the  ghostly  whis- 
per came  through  the  mist.  The  figure  advanced; 
Halle  began  to  retreat. 

"In  the  name  of  God,  what  are  you?  "  he  shouted. 

There  was  an  answering  shout  outside  the  ruins : 
"Trapped!" 

"  Oh,  Father !  Father !  You  have  made  a  mistake. 
Fly  !    Fly !    They  are  not  gone. " 

As  Marie  Monrouge  was  speaking,  Halle  heard  the 
sound  of  running  feet.  He  turned  and  fled  through 
the  further  door  of  the  Abbey,  and  along  on  the  top 
of  the  oubliette.  There  was  the  sound  of  hastening 
footsteps,  and  three  men  dashed  through  the  archway 
and  into  the  ruined  interior.  Marie  Monrouge,  trans- 
fixed with  fright,  was  a  sight  which  they  did  not  ex- 
pect. They  all  started  back  in  dismay  to  see  this 
pale,  misty  figure  within  the  Abbey  walls.  Marie 
Monrouge  was  quick-witted.  She  thought  to  her- 
self, "  The  longer  I  can  persuade  them  that  I  am  a 
spirit,  the  better  for  the  Father." 

She  heard  the  sound  of  Halle's  feet  as  he  sped 
along  outside  the  walls.  She  waved  a  ghostly  arm, 
and  the  men  drew  back. 

Finally  one  said :  "  Do  you  not  hear  the  sound  of 


400  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

running  feet?  This  is  some  lure.  Come,  let  us  go 
after  him." 

They  faced  about  and  ran,  turning  their  backs  upon 
the  supposed  spirit. 

When  Marie  Monrouge  found  that  she  had  had  the 
effect  of  frightening  the  sergents  de  ville  awaj,  and 
that  they  had  followed  exactly  in  the  priest's  foot- 
steps, she  called  in  an  agonizing  voice : 

"Messieurs!  Messieurs!  That  is  not  the  way. 
If  you  are  looking  for  the  Father,  he  has  gone  back 
through  the  garden,  up  there  by  the  chateau.  I  saw 
him  but  now " 

But  the  pursuers  had  all  passed  out  of  the  further 
archway  and  were  beating  the  bush  for  their  quarry. 
There,  outside  the  walls,  was  an  ancient  grove,  where 
the  nuns  used  to  walk,  and  the  pursuers  ran  through 
the  various  paths,  calling,  and  shouting,  and  ordering 
Halle  to  surrender.  Finally,  finding  no  one,  they 
came  out  of  the  little  wood  and  stood  in  consultation. 

"  I  distinctly  saw  him  as  he  crossed  the  flower  gar- 
den," said  one. 

"Ah,  ha!  You  were  wise  to  take  my  advice,  Cha- 
brol, "  said  another.  "  I  knew  that  if  we  left  the  horses 
at  the  bend  of  the  road  and  crept  back  on  foot,  we 
should  have  the  villain." 

"  And  now,  which  way  ?  "  asked  a  third. 

"What  is  this  grating?"  said  the  first.  He 
scratched  a  match  and  dropped  it  down.  A  scared 
white  face,  with  deep-set  eyes,  looked  up  at  him  from 
its  black  depths. 

"  He  is  here !  He  is  here ! "  said  number  two. 
"There !  Do  you  not  see  him?  "  But  the  figure  had 
disappeared  from  beneath  the  bell-shaped  cover,  or 
roof,  of  the  cell,  where  it  had  been  standing  but  a  mo- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  401 

ment  before.  The  police  now  began  to  scour  the  field 
to  find  the  entrance  to  the  hiding-place  of  the  hunted 
man.     He  had  been  run  to  earth. 

"They  will  have  me,"  he  groaned  aloud.  Sud- 
denly, he  bethought  him  of  a  passage  where  Gartha 
had  crawled  in  one  day,  and  had  been  drawn  out 
nearly  enveloped  with  spider's  webs.  Halle  looked 
anxiously  this  way  and  that.  There  was  no  other 
method  of  escape.  Now  he  saw  a  light  at  the  end  of 
the  passage  through  which  he  had  fled.  In  a  moment 
they  would  be  upon  him.  The  light  came  nearer,  he 
heard  voices,  the  ray  was  creeping,  creeping  along 
the  ground.  Anything  would  be  better  than  capture, 
death  even !  Halle  crouched  at  the  dark  entrance, 
upon  hands  and  knees ;  he  heard  his  pursuers  behind 
him,  then  crept  head  foremost  into  the  hole.  Their 
lantern  shed  its  beams  a  short  distance,  and  then  was 
lost  in  the  darkness  of  the  tunnel.  He  crawled  on 
and  on.  Slimy  toads  squeaked  and  hopped  aside. 
His  head  was  pushed  through  great  cobwebs  which 
had  not  been  disturbed  for  generations ;  once  some- 
thing sinuous  and  long  glided  over  his  hand.  Once 
his  palm  was  laid  upon  a  bone.  He  grasped  it.  It 
felt  like  the  bone  of  a  human  being.  An  awful  terror 
seized  him.  The  place  smelt  of  the  charnel  house. 
He  fell  upon  his  face,  and  as  he  fell,  he  clutched  a 
round  thing.  His  fingers  were  fcn-ced  into  a  cavity; 
he  knew  that  it  was  a  skull ;  he  could  have  sworn  that 
the  teeth  had  closed  upon  his  hand.  The  terrors  of 
the  jjlace  were  great,  but  nothing  to  the  horrors  that 
he  was  leaving  behind.  He  heard  a  shout,  a  mufiled 
shout,  for  his  crawling  figure  nearly  closed  up  the 
passage.  "WTiat  if  one  of  them,  smaller  than  the  rest, 
should  try  to  follow  him?  What  if  he  should  be 
26 


402  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

crawling  close  behind  with  his  bayonet?  What  if  he 
should  shoot  him  through  the  body  as  he  pushed 
slowly  and  helplessly  forward?  He  endeavored  to 
turn  himself  about,  but  the  passage  was  too  narrow 
for  that,  and  he  realized  at  once  that  he  could  never 
return  unless  he  could  manage  to  push  himself  back- 
ward, feet  first.  As  he  crawled,  his  mouth  and  nos- 
trils were  filled  with  the  dust  of  decay ;  hairy  crea- 
tures crossed  his  hands,  or  fell  upon  his  head,  and 
wriggled  their  way  amidst  his  hair  or  across  his  neck. 
But  this,  even  this,  was  better  than  being  taken  alive, 
and  he  pushed  on.  Once  he  felt  a  sharp,  stinging 
pain ;  then  heard  a  distant  report. 

Ah !  they  were  shooting  at  him  then !  Helpless  as 
he  was,  caged  in  this  narrow,  stifling  cylinder,  should 
he  turn,  of  what  avail?  He  would  be  shot  in  the  face, 
and  then,  when  his  dead  body  lay  before  her,  and  she 
looked  down  upon  him — No,  no!  better  push  on. 
The  place  was  getting  stifling,  something  was  pouring 
down  over  his  eyes,  dripping  in  front  of  him.  His 
hands  were  wet.  Ah !  the  bullet  had  struck  him  then. 
The  thought  made  him  faint,  ill.  He  had  always 
fainted  at  the  sight  of  blood.  He  thought  that  he 
could  smell  it.  He  turned  on  his  side,  sick  and  dizzy. 
Was  not  there  an  opening  further  on?  He  had  heard 
that  this  passageway  had  been  built  as  a  means  of 
escape  to  the  river,  for  use  in  the  old  times  when  the 
cloister  had  been  attacked.  Here,  it  was  said,  the 
gentle  sisters  had  taken  refuge.  It  was  dark!  So 
dark !  He  turned  a  little  more,  and  felt  with  his  fingers 
overhead.  Yes,  the  low  roof  was  arched,  and  ceiled 
with  the  same  small  stones  which  lined  the  entrance. 
If  men  had  done  this  work,  they  must  have  been  able 
to  get  out  in  some  way.     He  turned  again  upon  his 


THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  403 

face,  raised  liis  head  and  looked  forward.  All  was 
black.  He  sought  in  vain  for  some  faintest  ray 
of  daylight  to  show  that  the  passage  opened  into  the 
outer  air.  He  fancied  that  he  saw  it.  No,  it  was 
only  the  sparks  of  light  dancing  before  his  eyes. 
Something  rustled  behind  him.  Had  one  of  those 
servants  of  the  law  come  thus  far  after  him  ?  Should 
they  have  a  hand-to-hand  fight  in  the  passage?  He 
would  be  at  a  disadvantage,  for  he  could  not  turn. 
Was  the  passage  growing  smaller,  or  was  this  a  sud- 
den faintness  which  was  overcoming  him?  Some- 
thing rustled  again.  Halle  made  a  thrust  with  his 
foot.  The  unseen  thing  ran  over  his  body,  and  set 
small,  sharp  teeth  within  the  palm  of  his  hand.  The 
tortured  being  crawled  on  for  a  few  paces;  then  a 
dreadful  nausea  overcame  him,  and  he  sank  down,  his 
head  resting  upon  a  heap  of  bones — the  bones,  per- 
haps, of  some  other  creature  who  had  been  hunted  to 
the  death. 


XLV. 

When  Valery  reached  tlie  Abbey,  lie  was  met  by 
Alixe  at  the  grille  which  opened  upon  the  terrace. 
Her  face  was  pale,  her  eyes  were  hollow. 

"Valery,"  she  said,  "you  must  take  us  away  at 
once. " 

"Take  you  away,  and  where  to?  " 

"Anywhere!  I  care  not,  only  so  that  I  leave  this 
place!" 

"AndGartha?" 

"  The  doctor  says  that  with  care  she  can  travel. " 

"Where  will  you  go,  Alixe?  " 

"I  have  no  choice.  Anywhere!  Anywhere!" 
And  then  Alixe  told  her  brother-in-law  of  the  priest's 
visit  on  the  previous  night,  of  the  visits  of  the  sol- 
diers, their  return,  as  Marie  Monrouge  had  told  it  to 
her,  and  her  belief  that  Halle  had  been  taken  or 
killed. 

"  If  he  has  been  taken, "  said  Valerj^ ,  "  he  probably 
deserves  it." 

"Oh!  Valery.  'Do  you  really  mean  it?  You  can- 
not think  him  guilty  of  so  grave  a  crime.  I  suppose 
that  I  should  go  to  the  dear  Archbishop's  funeral,  but 
Gartha " 

"  Tou  have  no  need  to  go, "  said  Valery,  smiling. 

"No?     Oh,  Valery  !    You  do  not  mean " 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean.     I  do  mean  that  he  is  not  dead, 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  405 

and  there  is  a  very  good  chance  for  his  recovery. 
How  soon  can  you  be  ready,  Alixe?  " 

*'  This  moment,  this  afternoon.     I " 

"I  cannot  go  until  to-morrow,  Alixe.  There  are 
one  or  two  things  that  I  must  see  to  in  Paris.  Ma- 
masha — "  He  stojjped.  He  would  not  destroy  the 
daughter's  faith  in  the  mother  too  entirely. 

''What  of  my  mother,  Valery?  " 

"  Would — would  you — I  was  only  thinking  that  you 
might  wish  to  see  her " 

"No,  Valery,  no!  I  wish  only  to  get  away  with 
Gartha.  Only  with  Gartha.  The  poor  little  thing  is 
so  sallow  and  thin.     More  of  a  brownie  than  ever ! " 

"You  don't  mind  my  going  along  as  baby-tender 
and  trunk-strapper,  I  suppose?  " 

Alixe  smiled  faintl3^ 

"  There,  now !  You  look  more  like  your  old  self, 
little  sister ! " 

At  this  Alixe  smiled  again,  as  she  gave  Valery  a 
level  look  from  her  splendid  height. 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  go  up  and  have  a  look  at  Gar- 
tha, and  be  off  to  Paris  by  the  next  train.  Whom  will 
you  take  with  you?  " 

"  Marie  Monrouge, "  said  Alixe.  "  Gartha  is  devoted 
to  Marie  Monrouge." 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  gate.  Alixe  and  Valery  re- 
treated to  the  salon,  Valery  running  up-stairs  to 
Alixe's  room,  where  Gartha  was  sitting  on  a  couch, 
putting  together  a  map  of  Africa. 

"Oh,  Valery,  dear!"  said  the  child,  "I  am  trying 
so  hard  to  learn  all  about  the  places  where  you  have 
been.  I  hate  puzzles  and  geography,  but  Alixe 
thought  it  would  be  of  an  amusement,  and  she  sent  for 
a  puzzle    map   of  Africa.     Kegardez,  Valery!     The 


406  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

land  won't  go  in  anywhere,  and  the  Boers  are  always 
on  top." 

"Faith,  you'll  always  find  'em  on  top!"  said  Val- 
ery,  from  his  standpoint  of  Irish  prejudice.  A  pre- 
diction which  has  not  been  fulfilled.  "  Do  you  want 
to  go  away?  " 

"No,  not  peticly,"  saidGartha,  "but  if  Alixe  wants 
me  to,  je  m'enbats  I'oeil."  Valery  looked  a  trifle  sol- 
emn at  this  outrageous  slang,  but  how  could  he  cor- 
rect her  now? 

"So  you  like  the  map?  " 

"C'est  epatant!  The  artist-peintre  of  Marie  Mon- 
rouge,  he  teached  me  that  C'est  epatant !  "  and  Gartha 
laughed.     "Are  you  coming  with  us,  Papachen?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  going  to  be  bandbox-carrier  to  your 
two  majesties." 

This  made  Gartha  laugh  again. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  Marie  Mon- 
rouge.  Her  appearance  resembled  that  of  the  rest  of 
the  human  beings  about  the  establishment.  She  was 
wild-eyed  and  frightened.  "  Does  not  Marie  Monrouge 
appear  ridicule?"  asked  Gartha.  "She  was  at  the 
Abbey  all  the  last  night  playing  at  ghosts.  One  of 
these  revenants.  Oh !  how  I  wish  I  had  saw  her.  I 
never  saw  a  revenant. " 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  sends  me  to  say,  monsieur, 
that  a  young  monsieur  is  below  waiting  to  speak  with 
you." 

"Who  the  devil  can  have  followed  me  here?  "  ex- 
claimed Valery. 

He  ran  down  the  stairs  and  found  Alixe  in  conver- 
sation with  a  lad  about  eight  years  of  age. 

"Why!  Hola,  Jan!  How  are  you?  Where  did 
you  come  from?  " 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  407 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Valery?  I  came  from  Ire- 
land, really,  but  I  got  taken  past  the  station  yester- 
day, down  into  the  south  of  France,  and  had  to  get 
out,  and  come  back  on  another  train.  How  is  Gar- 
tha,  Mr.  Valery?" 

"Eight  as  rain,  as  my  prospective  father-in-law 
would  say.     Have  you  come  to  see  Gartha?  " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Valery,"  said  Jan  MacDonald,  looking 
down  with  becoming  embarrassment.  "  I  heard  she 
has  been  hurt  and  was  very  ill.  I  should  have  been 
here  a  week  ago,  but  my  allowance  had  given  out, 
and  I  had  to  wait  for  Uncle  Jack's  next  check." 

"  So  Quentin  keeps  you  pretty  short,  does  he?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  lad,  "but  he  didn't  expect  me 
to  come  to  France.  I  had  to  borrow  all  of  Elsie, 
my  cousin's,  allowance,  and  Ann  Macune's  wages. 
Ann  Macuue  is  fond  of  Gartha — she  was  willing " 

"  Who  isn't,  Jan?  Even  the  poor  old  Weasel.  Come 
up-stairs." 

Alixe  rose  and  came  toward  the  lad. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  Mr.  Quentin's 
nephew?  "  she  asked.  She  laid  her  hands  on  Jan's 
shoulders  aud  looked  down  into  the  fresh  young  face. 

"Yes,  Madame,  I  am  Jan.  When  can  I  see 
Gartha?  " 

"I  will  go  and  tell  her  that  a'ou  are  here,"  said 
Alixe.  "  Let  me  go,  Valery,  and  bring  Jan  uj)  when 
Marie  Monrouge  comes  for  you." 

"Nom  de  Dieu!  I  thought  some  of  my  lovers 
might  be  coming,"  said  Gartha,  when  she  heard  that 
Jan  had  arrived.  "  Do  not  you  know  that  song  Mary 
Thorndike  used  to  sing,  when  she  used  to  puff  and 
blow  all  the  music  off  the  piano,  Alixe,  about  the  dy- 
ing girl  listening  for  her  lover?     I  have  been  listening 


408  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

just  like  that  all  the  day.  The  doctor  may  say  that  1 
am  well,  dear  aunt,  but  I  am  not  getting  strong.  I 
am  thin  and  pale,  and  my  food  sits  heavy  on  my 
stomach." 

"I  should  think  it  might,"  said  Valery,  who  was 
mounting  the  stairs,  not  waiting  for  the  summons, 
"  if  what  I  have  seen  you  eat  this  morning  is  a  sam- 
ple. Here's  Jan,  Gartha.  Come  all  the  way  from 
the  Scotch-Irish  border  to  see  my  little  girl." 

Gartha,  taken  unaware,  lay  hurriedly  back  among 
the  pillows.  She  managed  to  give  her  eyes  an  ex- 
tremely hollow  look ;  she  drew  her  lips  tightly  over 
her  teeth ;  she  panted  as  if  it  were  difficult  to  get  her 
breath ;  she  laid  a  wan  and  weary  hand  outside  the 
shawl  which  covered  her  thin  little  legs,  and  when 
Alixe  looked  at  it,  she  found  that  it  was  trembling  like 
a  leaf.     The  other  was  as  steady  as  usual. 

"How  do  you  do,  Jan?"  said  Gartha,  in  a  weak, 
faint  voice.    "  Cher  ami,  how  I  have  longed  for  you." 

At  this  fervent  speech  Jan  looked  up,  then  down. 
His  embarrassment  was  so  great  that  he  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  unable  to  move.  There  was  a 
choking  sound  from  the  far  corner  of  the  room,  where 
Valery  leaned  out  of  the  window.  All  that  could  be 
seen  of  his  neck  was  very  red;  his  great  shoulders 
were  shaking  convulsively. 

"Do  not  weep,  dear  father,"  said  Gartha,  anx- 
iously. "I  am  going  to  a  brighter  and  better  home. 
I  hear  the  angels,  les  anges,  calling  on  the  moment." 

At  this  fine  speech  Jan  MacDonald  gave  one  look  at 
Gartha' s  drawn  lips  and  hollow  eyes,  and  burst  into 
a  passion  of  sobs. 

"Gartha,"  said  Alixe,  "how  can  you!  See  poor 
Jan !     Sit  up  and  behave  yourself." 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  409 

"  Do  not  weep,  dear  Jan, "  said  Gartba.  "  Come 
nearer  and  let  me  wipe  your  tears  with  my  dear 
aunt's  handkerchief.  There  is  one  request  that  I 
want  to  make  to  you,  Jan." 

Jan's  crying  was  so  loud  that  it  drowned  Valery's 
laughter. 

"  You  know  the  white,  white  rose  that  grows  within 
the  Abbey  yonder,  dear,  dearest  Jan." 

"  Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  your  old  Abbey,"  roared 
Jan,  sobbing  louder  than  ever.  Gartha  sighed  with 
pious  resignation. 

"  Nom  de  Dieu ! "  she  said,  gazing  heavenward, 
"  but  not  to  know  my  rose.  My  dear  aunt  will  show 
you  where  it  is  when  I  am  gone.  Go  to  that 
bush " 

By  this  time  Jan  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  floor 
by  the  side  of  the  couch,  and  was  sobbing  his  boyish 
heart  out  upon  Gartha 's  still  trembling  hand. 

"You — you  said  you  was  goin'  to  grow  up  an' — an' 
— mar — mar — ry — me,"  sobbed  Jan,  "and  nowj'ou're 
— you're — goin' — to — die.  You — you — 're — a  be — 
heast!" 

Gartha  withdrew  her  hand  from  beneath  Jan's  wet 
face,  and  laid  it,  still  shaking,  on  his  curly  head,  re- 
membering suddenly  a  scene  which  she  had  gloated 
over  in  one  of  Marie  Monrouge's  tales. 

"I  could  not  marry  you,  dear  Jan,"  she  said,  "if  I 
would.     I  am  pre — pre — engage  to  your  uncle." 

"He's — he's— a  beast,  too,"  roared  Jan. 

Gartha  sat  up  in  bed,  and  held  up  one  warning  fin- 
ger toward  Jan. 

"  Ta  bouche !  Bebe  Eose,"  she  exclaimed  with  the 
proper  gutturals.     "  Ta  bouche ! " 

"Gartha!    Gartha!" 


410  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Gartha,  on  hearing  Yalery's  remonatrative  tones, 
looked  sweetly  up  in  his  eyes. 

"  Tu  paries !  Charles,  tu  paries ! " 

"  Gartha ! "  It  was  Alixe  whose  horrified  tones  were 
heard  now  above  Jan's  sobbings. 

"  Mamasha  says  it.  I  heard  her  say  it  to  Harry 
Ware." 

"Come,  now,  Gartha,  come  down  from  your 
high  horse  and  show  Jan  your  puzzle  map  of  Af- 
rica." 

Poor  Jan  arose  from  his  lowly  position  by  Gar- 
tha's  bedside.  He  was  very  angry,  as  well  as  much 
mortified,  at  being  made  a  medium  to  amuse  the 
grown-ups.  He  turned  forlornly  toward  the  door, 
his  tears  almost  dried. 

"Don't  quarrel  with  the  little  girl,  Jan,"  called 
Valery.  "You  know  she's  somewhat  fond  of  acting. 
She's  all  right  now,  and  I  hope  you'll  forget  and 
forgive." 

Jan  stood  sulkily  in  the  middle  distance. 

"Via  les  Anglish,"  piped  Gartha,  who  seemed  to 
be  in  her  most  vicious  mood.  Then,  perceiving  from 
Yalery's  looks  that  she  had  gone  too  far,  she  hastily 
added :  "  Le  Eire  says  it !  " 

"  So  you  read  Le  Eire,"  commented  Valery  dryly. 
"Your  education  seems  to  be  getting  its  finishing 
touches." 

"  The  artist-peintre  sends  it  to  Marie  Monrouge," 
explained  Gartha.  "We  read  it  at  the  mill  while 
Mere  Monrouge  knits.  She  clicks  her  tongue  and 
says,  *  Si  j'etais  encore  jeune!'  She  lived  in  the 
Quartier,  when  she  was  gosse." 

Valery  left  Jan  at  the  Abbey,  and  took  the  after- 
noon train  for  Paris.     His  last  words  were,  "  I  shall 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  411 

come  back  to-morrow,  all  ready  for  a  trip  to  tlie 
moon,  if  you  say  so." 

Valery,  however,  did  not  keep  his  promise.  When 
he  got  to  Paris,  he  found  Quentin  sitting  in  his  rooms, 
where  he  had  arrived  soon  after  Yalery  had  left  them. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?  "  asked  Quentin." 

"  It  never  rains  but  it  pours,"  said  Valery.  "  Let's 
have  it.  There  can't  be  worse  or  more  of  it  than  I 
have  heard  already." 

"What!  Whatl"  stammered  Quentin.  "Is  Ma- 
dame, is  Alixe " 

"They  are  all  right  at  the  Abbey,"  said  Valery. 
"What  is  your  news?  " 

"Haven't  you  seen  the  morning  papers?"  asked 
Quentin. 

"Haven't  looked  at  a  paper  to-day.  Had  no  time. 
Don't  get  'em  at  the  Abbey.  Been  on  the  keen  jump 
all  day  !  Not  Mamasha !  The  dear  old  lady  hasn't 
slipped  up  on  Eldon,  has  she?  " 

"Nothing  so  trivial  as  that,"  said  Quentin.  "It's 
about  St.  Aubin " 

"  St.  Aubin !  "  repeated  Valery .  "  St.  Aubin  !  What 
has  he  been  doing?     Not  robbing  a  bank?  " 

"Worse  than  that!  Le  Figaro  says  that  he  has 
killed  himself." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  Quentin.  Try  something  else.  St. 
Aubin  isn't  that  kind.     Tell  me  that " 

" I  think  it  must  be  true,"  said  Quentin.  "  The  ac- 
count is  very  circumstantial " 

"  Why  should  he  kill  himself?  "  asked  Valery,  in 
an  awe-struck  voice. 

"Read  the  account,  it  is  all  there."  Quentin 
handed  Valery  the  journal.  He  carried  it  to  the  win- 
dow, for  the  light  was  waning,  and  read  a  few  lines. 


412  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Quentin,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  other,  "go  down 
at  once  and  telegraph  in  my  name  to  the  station  at 
Moncousis.  Tell  them  not  to  send  the  papers  to  the 
Abbey  to-day  or  to-morrow — in  fact,  not  until  I  come. 
Please  go  at  once." 

Quentin  was  out  of  the  door  and  half-way  down  the 
stairs  before  Valery  had  finished  his  instructions. 

Then  Valery  stood  by  the  window  and  read  the 
dreadful  story  of  how  a  small,  dark  stranger  had 
driven  to  the  wharf  of  a  great  ocean  steamship,  be- 
hind the  dray  that  held  his  boxes.  He  kept  them  in 
sight  every  moment,  was  everywhere  among  the  dray- 
men at  the  wharf,  ordering  that  the  boxes  be  removed 
with  great  care.  They  were  packed  with  valuable  and 
brittle  glass,  he  said,  and  the  least  jar  might  break 
them.  None  of  the  boxes  was  heavy  but  one.  This, 
the  last  one  to  be  removed  by  the  men,  was  slowly 
drawn  along  the  bottom  of  the  dray  and  rested  on 
the  extreme  edge.  At  that  moment  the  wharf-master 
shouted : 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  those  boxes?  They  do 
not  belong  here.  Take  them  down  to  the  other  gang- 
way ! " 

"These  are  my  boxes,"  said  the  stranger.  "This 
box  is  to  go  into  my  stateroom." 

"It  is  too  high  for  a  stateroom,"  said  the  wharf- 
master. 

"  It  is  to  go  into  my  stateroom,"  repeated  the  stran- 
ger persistently,  as  if  unused  to  contradiction. 

"  Hi,  there,  you  men,  push  that  box  back  into  the 
wagon.  Take  it  down  the  wharf  to  the  other  gang- 
way," said  the  wharf-master  crossly. 

The  men  turned  to  listen  to  the  altercation.  One 
had  released  his  hold ;  the  other  felt  the  box  slipping, 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  413 

and  fearing  tliat  it  would  fall  upon  his  foot,  sprang 
out  of  the  way.  He  might  as  well  have  remained,  for 
at  that  moment  there  was  a  terrific  explosion.  He 
was  blown  to  a  thousand  atoms.  Another,  the  dray- 
man, was  killed,  and  several  of  the  police  were  knocked 
senseless. 

The  stranger,  on  seeing  the  explosion,  ran  on  board 
the  steamer,  and  down  below  into  his  stateroom.  It 
was  on  the  lower  tier.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  pis- 
tol shot.  They  found  him  lying  on  the  floor,  bleed- 
ing profusely  and  past  all  help.  He  died  as  they 
lifted  him  to  the  bed.  "  It  is  impossible  that  it  was 
St.  Aubin,"  said  Valery  aloud.  "He  always  travels 
so  luxuriously.  He  always  took  a  deck  cabin."  But 
on  reading  further,  he  began  to  see  light  through  the 
darkness.  Suspicion  had  already  been  aroused,  and 
the  busy  police  and  journalists  were  at  work  probing 
the  matter  to  the  bottom.  The  box  was  found  to  con- 
tain a  complicated  mass  of  the  most  ingeniously  con- 
structed mechanism,  to  which  men  had  given  the 
most  pertinent  of  names,  that  of  infernal  machine. 
Different  parts  of  it  were  picked  up  on  the  wharf 
where  they  had  fallen,  and  enough  was  found  to 
prove  that  this  was  the  devilish  plan  of  a  devil's  na- 
ture. 

The  body  of  the  stranger  had  been  identified  by  one 
of  the  Paris  police,  who  had  been  sent  to  investi- 
gate the  affair,  as  that  of  the  Count  St.  Aubin.  Then 
came  forward  the  insurance  company,  who  told  the 
tale  of  the  box  having  been  insured  lately  with  them, 
for  a  very  large  amount,  by  the  Count  St.  Aubin.  It 
was  to  be  shipped  on  the  steamer  of  that  same  date. 
In  scanning  their  books  they  discovered  that  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind  had  been  done  before.     They 


414  THE  AUCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

found  that  the  Count  St.  Aubin  had  insured  other 
boxes  for  like  large  sums  of  money.  The  insurance 
had  invariably  been  paid,  for  the  steamers  in  which 
the  boxes  %ad  been  shipped  had  never  been  heard 
from! 

"  Virginia  Danielli ! "  muttered  Yalery  to  himself, 
shaking  his  head.  "  Virginia  Danielli ! "  He  sat 
down  by  the  window  and  tried  to  reason  it  all  out. 
Bruno  was  not  contemplating  an  ocean  voyage,  of 
this  he  felt  certain.  He  had  gone  to  the  German 
port  to  sail  for  Southampton.  He  had  taken  a  room 
as  near  the  bottom  of  the  ship  as  possible.  Had  it 
been  part  of  his  plan  to  leave  the  steamer  at  South- 
ampton, and  leave  the  box  behind  in  that  room  in  the 
bowels  of  the  vessel?  "Oh,  my  God!"  exclaimed 
Valery.  "Set,  probably,  so  that  it  would  explode 
within  a  given  time."  Then  he  read  from  the  journal 
this  sentence:  "A  box  had  been  deposited  on  the 
10th  of  August  on  board  the  Ocean  Monarch,  and 
insured  at  the  company's  office  by  the  Count  St. 
Aubin." 

Quentin  found  Valery  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  with  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Quentin,"  he  said. 
"  Should  I  go  and  claim  that  yellow  little  carcass,  or 
should  I  go  back  and  take  Alixe  away?  " 

"Go  and  take  her  away,  for  God's  sake,"  said 
Quentin.  "  I  will  see  to  the  burial,  just  as  if  you 
were  here." 

"You  remember  how  they  talked  of  his  emotion 
when  Virginia  Danielli  was  lost?  I  should  think  he 
would  have  shown  emotion !  He  didn't  care  a  rap  for 
Virginia;  was  rather  jealous  of  the  affection  which 
Alixe  showed  for  her,  in  fact;  but  I  know  he  was  sur- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  415 

prised  to  find  that  she  was  going  on  that  steamer. 
That  time,  perhaps,  he  had  sent  his  box  before  him. 
It  may  have  been  on  a  bill  of  lading.  It  may  have 
been  put  in  the  hold ;  and  perhaps  he  was  afraid  to 
ask  again  for  its  return,  for  fear  of  giving  the  whole 
game  away.  I  don't  know  much  about  such  things, 
thank  God !  He  may  have  ordered  it  put  on  board  in 
Southampton,  and  not  have  been  able  to  stop  the 
thing.  Perhaps  his  tool,  Halle,  was  over  there,  and 
got  the  bos  started  before  Bruno  could  stop  him.  A 
nice  pair  of  murderers,  trafiicking  in  human  blood! 
It  makes  me  physically  sick, "  and  Valery  promptly 
began  to  show  how  his  feelings  had  overcome  him, 
for,  strong  man  as  he  was,  he  tumbled  over  in  a  heap 
on  the  sofa. 

"And  about  the  papers,  Quentin?"  asked  Valery, 
when  he  recovered  himself. 

"Oh,  atMoncousis?  They  answered,  that  the  jour- 
nals for  some  reason  had  failed  to  arrive  to-day,  and 
that  they  would  keep  them  at  the  station,  and  not 
send  them  on  to  the  Abbey,  until  further  orders." 

"And  so  you  will  bury  the  brute!"  said  Valery. 
"If  I  had  my  way,  I'd  throw  his  little  yellow  car- 
cass into  a  hole  with  a  lot  of  quicklime,  the  more  the 
better." 

"I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  Quentin.  He  tried  to 
think.  He  found  it  difficult  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
How  should  he  proceed?  When  should  he  start — 
where  should  he— — 

The  door  burst  open.     It  was  Madame. 

"  Valery,  have  you  heard  the  news?  "  Madame  was 
crying,  and  the  tears  made  little  roads  down  her 
cheeks,  and  great  inroads  upon  her  complexion. 

"Yes,  I've  heard,"  answered  Valery  gloomily. 


416  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"Eldon  hasn't  come, "  said  Mamasha.  "I  wonder 
if  he  will  give  me  up  for  that.  I  can't  imagine  it.  I 
am  no  relative  to  Bruno,  that  ame  damnee !  At  least, 
he  was  only  my  sister's  child,  and " 

"If  Eldon  doesn't  give  you  up  for  something  else, 
Mamasha,  he  won't  for  this,"  said  Valery. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Valery ? "  Madame  turned 
all  colors. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I've  lodged  a  complaint 
before  the  juge  de  paix.  You'll  excuse  our  talking 
family  matters,  Quentin " 

"I'll  go  away,"  said  Quentin,  looking  much  dis- 
tressed. "  I  had  better  go  away — I  have  much  to  see 
to " 

"  If  you  are  going  after  that  malefactor,  Mr.  Quen- 
tin," began  Madame,  "if  you  condone  that  crime 
enorme " 

"I  am  going,  at  Mr.  Valery's  request,  to  take 
charge  of  the  body  and  bury  it — ■ — "  He  turned  to 
Valery.     "Where? "  he  said.     "I  know  not  where." 

"  You  need  not  think  of  bringing  him  to  the  Abbey, 
Mr.  Quentin.  I  will  not  have  him  lie  beside  my  dear 
General,  and  my  little  Allaire " 

"  You're  right  for  the  first  time  in  your  life,  Mama- 
sha," said  Valery,  "only  where  else  but  there?  " 

"Where,  then?  "  asked  Quentin,  in  his  turn,  facing 
Madame.     "  Has  his  wife  no  voice  in  the  matter?  " 

"  She  won't  know  anything  about  it,"  said  Madame, 
who,  for  once,  agreed  with  her  son-in-law. 

"As  you  say,"  said  Quentin,  "certainly;  but  she 
may  hold  me  accountable  later." 

"  She  can't, "  said  Valery.  "  I  am  going  to  take  her 
to  Africa  to-morrow." 

"  To  Africa ! "  gasped  Quentin. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  417 

"Yes.  She  and  Gartlia  and  I.  She  told  me  to 
tell  you  that  you  could  have  the  Abbey  if  you  wish  it, 
Mamasha." 

"It  will  be  the  best  place  to  go,"  said  Madame. 
"  I  should  not  dare  to  face  them  all  in  England  just  at 
present.  Please,  dear  Valery,  and  you,  Mr.  Quen- 
tin,  when  any  one  asks  you  what  the  relationship  was 
between  me  and  Bruno,  say  a  very  distant  one." 

"Every  one  knows  that  he  was  your  son-in-law," 
said  Valery. 

"  Hum ! "  said  Madame,  looking  down  and  tapping 
her  foot  on  the  floor. 

"And  most  people  know  that  you  married  your 
daughter  to  him  against  her  will." 

"  Oh,  no,  Valery,  dear ;  Alixe  was  perfectly  willing. " 

"  Yes,  because  you  told  her  that  poor  Bruno  had  no 
money,  and  that  onlj'  in  that  way  could  she  share  her 
fortune  with  him.     See  how  he  has  squandered  it." 

"Yes,  it  was  an  unsuccessful  experiment,  I  own. 
But  later,  she  maj'  be  able  to  feel  un  grand  bien  s'en- 
suivit  de  tant  de  maux." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Mr.  Quentin?  " 
Madame  had  not  seen  herself  since  her  tears  had 
dried,  or  she  could  not  have  so  calmly  faced  her  some- 
time love. 

"I  am  going  to  obej^  Valery 's  orders,"  said  Quen- 
tin, "  and  then — I  don't  know."  A  blank  wall  loomed 
up  before  Quentin. 

"  We've  got  your  young  nephew  down  at  the  Abbey, 
Quentin.  Do  you  mind  if  we  take  him  along  with 
us?     It's  a  great  thing  for  Gartha." 

"Jan  at  the  Abbey?     How  did  he  get  there?  " 

Valery  explained,  and  Quentin  acceded  to  Valery 's 
request  only  too  gladly.  Jan's  going  with  Valery 
27 


418  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

and  his  charges  would  be  a  bond,  and  Quentin  deter- 
mined to  write  to  his  nephew  much  more  often  than 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  The  question  was, 
would  the  lad  reply?  'Boys  are  so  careless — he  must 
write  him  a  stern  letter — give  him  a  large  allowance, 
perhaps — but  no — that  was  not  the  right  way  to  win 
a  lad's 

"You  will  come,  dear  friend?  " 

It  was  Madame's  voice. 

"  Come?     Come  to  what?  " 

Quentin  had  been  brought  back  to  the  realities  of 
life  by  Madame's  sweet  voice. 

"  Why,  to  the  Abbey.  I  expect  Eldon  to-day,  and 
after  our  marriage,  I  think  we  had  better  go  there  for 
a  while.  I  shall  go  home  at  once  and  write  to  the 
Baron  and  Baroness " 

"  The  Baron  is  sitting  right  down  here  in  front  of 
Maxim's,"  said  Yalery,  "I  saw  him  as  I  came  along." 

"You  can't  expect  me  to  go  down  to  Maxim's  and 
say,  '  Baron,  will  you  come  to  the  Abbey  for  a  visit?  ' 
I  will  write  to  her,  and  to  the  Jenkins  girls,  and  Mary 
Thorndike,  and  Lady  Barnes,  and  Ada  Spencer,  and 
— you  will  come,  too,  dear  friend?  " 

"I — I — hardly  know.  I  must  first  attend  to — 
to " 

Quentin  stopped  short.  His  feelings  revolted 
against  going  to  the  Abbey  just  after  the  dreadful 
task  that  he  had  set  himself  to  perform.  And  then, 
too,  why  should  he  go  when  the  charm  would  be 
removed? 


XLVI. 

Valert's  man  was  packing  liis  belongings,  but  tlie 
day  was  not  long  enough  for  all  that  he  had  to  do. 
He  sent  constant  telegrams  to  Alixe,  telling  her  how 
matters  were  progressing,  and  on  the  third  day  he 
arrived  a{  the  Abbey.  There  he  slept  one  night,  and 
the  following  day  saw  the  party  of  four  on  its  way  to 
Africa. 

Valery  and  Quentin  had  decided  that  it  would 
not  do  to  keep  Alixe  in  ignorance  of  St.  Au bin's 
death. 

"  But  I  shan't  tell  her,"  said  Valery,  "  until  the  little 
beast — I  mean,  Bruno — is  buried,  for  she  would  think 
it  proper  to  appear  at  the  funeral,  and  then  the  whole 
thing  would  come  out.  Of  course  the  world  knows 
all  the  details,  or  will ;  but  if  we  can  keep  it  from 
Alixe  for  a  while,  that  is  all  that  I  hope  for." 

Alixe  had  said  to  Valery,  several  times,  that  it  was 
strange  that  she  had  not  heard  from  Bruno.  He  had 
never  been  so  long  without  writing.  She  feared  that 
she  had  been  too  harsh  with  him,  etc.,  etc. 

Valery  parried  the  questions  as  best  he  could  until 
they  were  on  board  the  steamer,  sailing  for  Cape 
Town.  Alixe  had  been  confined  to  her  cabin  for  sev- 
eral days  with  a  racking  headache.  That  was  not  the 
time  to  tell  her,  and  Valery,  biding  his  time,  waited 
until  one  bright  morning  in  the  tropics.  She  was  sit- 
ting on  deck,  gazing  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  romantic 


420  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

girl  at  the  trade-wind  clouds,  and  picturing   many 
charming  scenes  to  her  own  satisfaction. 

"See,  Valery,"  she  said,  "there  is  the  Archbishop. 
Do  you  not  see  his  robes?  See  how  he  holds  out  his 
arms  to  me,  as  if  he  were  begging  me  to  return  and 
take  the  vows  that  I  almost  promised  him  I  would 
take.     Ah !  had  I  but  seen  him  before  I  left  home." 

"  That  was  not  possible,  Alixe, "  said  Valery .  "  The 
physicians  would  allow  no  one  to  see  him.  You  con- 
tributed to  his  recovery  by  remaining  away.  The  ex- 
citement would  have  been  too  much  for  him." 

"  And  there  is  the  Abbey.     Do  you  see  it,  Yalery  ?  " 
Yalery  looked  toward  the  white  spot  against  the 
blue  on  which  the  eyes  of  Alixe  were  fixed. 

"It  certainly  does  look  like  the  ruins,"  said  lie, 
"  that  is,  to  us.  There  is  a  horse-dealer  over  there, 
who,  I  suppose,  would  insist  that  it  looks  like  a  drove 
of  animals,  and  that  publisher  would  say  that  it  looks 
like  a  pile  of  books.  Some  Parisian  would  declare 
that  it  was  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  Arc  de  I'Etoile. 
So  it  goes.  One  always  sees  that  of  which  he  is 
thinking,  in  the  trade-wind  clouds." 

Alixe  sat,  still  gazing  at  what  to  her  seemed  an  ex- 
act representation  of  the  Abbey.  Finally  she  turned, 
and  spoke  as  if  with  difficulty.  It  was  as  if  the  ques- 
tion must  be  asked  and  answered  before  she  could 
have  peace  of  mind. 

"  Has  Robert  Halle  ever  returned,  Yalery?  " 
"  J^o,"  said  Yalery.  "I  hear  that  they  have  proof 
positive  that  it  was  he  who  attacked  the  Archbishop." 
Alixe  was  silent.  Yalery  had  expected  a  violent  dis- 
claimer. "  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Alixe !  I  thought 
that  you  were  more  loyal  to  Halle !  "  Alixe  was  still 
silent.     "  It  seems  terrible  to  think  that  one  who  has 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  421 

lived  with  us  as  a  boy  and  man  could  conceive  such  a 
dreadful  act  and  try  to  carry  it  out."  Still  Alixe  did 
not  answer.  She  was  thinking,  as  she  had  almost 
every  moment  since  it  had  occurred,  of  that  dreadful 
look  which  Halle  had  given  her,  of  his  stretching  out 
his  dark,  bonj^  hands,  of  the  step  which  he  took  to- 
ward her.  The  thought  brought  upon  her  almost  a 
physical  sickness.  To  think  of  it  even  was  terrifying, 
and  Valery's  words  brought  the  scene  before  her  so 
vividly,  that  scene  which  she  was  endeavoring  so  des- 
perately to  forget,  that  she  turned  her  face  and  hid  it 
in  her  hands. 

"Don't  speak  of  him  again,  Yalery,"  she  said. 
" Do  not !     I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  You  brought  it  upon  yourself,  Alixe. " 

"I — I — wanted  to  know,  certainly.  I  thought  I 
could " 

Valery  stood  looking  at  her  in  amazement.  Her 
shoulders  were  shaking  in  a  nervous  tremor.  Her 
voice,  when  she  spoke,  was  faint. 

"  You  never  told  me  anything  to  make  me  think  that 
you  did  not  wish  him  spoken  of,  Alixe.  The  morn- 
ing that  I  came  to  the  Abbey  post  haste  from  Paris, 
you  only  said " 

"Valery,  do  not!     I  tell  you  I  cannot  bear  it." 

Valery  kei)t  silent  for  a  space.  He  was  puzzled. 
Then  he  repeated:  "You  asked  me,  Alixe." 

"Yes,  I  asked  you.  It  was  my  fault.  I  thought 
myself  stronger.  What  of  Bruno?  I  have  not  heard 
from  Bruno  lately." 

"Did — do  you  and  he  keep  up  such  a  violent  corre- 
spondence? "  asked  Valery. 

"  N — no."  Alixe  smiled  faintly.  "  But  I  generally 
know  where  he  is.     I  know  that  I  must  have  angered 


422  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

him  greatly.  Not  witli  the  talk  of  my  going  into  a 
convent,  but  in  other  ways.  He  was  never  silent  so 
long  before.  I  suppose,  when  we  return,  he  will  come 
back  to  the  Abbey.     Do  you  think  so?  " 

"I  hardly  know,"  said  Valery.  "How  Gartha  has 
improved!     Do  you  notice  it,  Alixe?  " 

"Dear  little  soul!"  said  Alixe.  "Gartha  is  my 
mainstay.  If  anything  serious  should  happen  to 
Gartha — "  Alixe's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "  Of  what 
are  you  thinking?  " 

Valery  was  looking  at  her  fixedly. 

"  Alixe,  I  have  some  bad  news  for  you. " 

Alixe  sat  upright.     "Not  Gartha?  "  she  said. 

"Gartha!  Do  you  suppose  that  I  should  have 
stood  gossiping  here  about  Halle,  if  anything  had 
happened  to  Gartha?  There  she  is,  leaning  over  the 
rail  with  Jan.  No,  Alixe,  it  is  about  some  one  else. 
Tou  asked  me  about  Bruno.     You  wish  to  know?  " 

The  cheek  of  Alixe  had  regained  its  color.  It  was 
plain  to  Valery  that  Bruno  had  never  been  to  Alixe 
what  Gartha  was  at  that  moment. 

"  Certainly  I  wish  to  know.     What  is  it?  " 

"Alixe,  what  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  that 
Bruno  is  very  ill?  " 

"And  you  brought  me  away  from  France!  Oh! 
Valer3%  I  who  should  be  there. to  nurse  him.  That  is 
my  duty.  What  is  the  nearest  port?  How  soon  can  I 
get  there?  How  far  is  it?  I  have  money,  have  I  not? 
Enough  to  persuade  them  to  put  into  the  nearest 
port?  " 

"  What  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  that  Bruno  is 
dead,  Alixe?  " 

"  Dead !  How  could  you  get  the  news !  How  could 
you — Do  you  mean  to  say — Valery  !  Valery  !     Do  you 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  423 

mean  to  say  that  you  knew  this  before  we  left  the  Ab- 
bey, and  never  told  me?  " 

"Yes,  Alixe,  I  mean  to  say  that  very  thing." 
"  Oh,  Valery  !  How  heartless !  How  cruel !  I  who 
should  have  been  the  first  to  fly  to  his  bedside,  I 
who  should  have  been  with  him  when  he  died.  For 
Bruno  loved  me — in  his  way — yes,  in  his  way—" 
The  tears  were  coursing  down  her  face.  She  turned 
toward  the  rail,  that  the  inquisitive  promenaders 
might  not  notice  her  distress.  Valery  lowered  the 
umbrella,  so  that  no  one  could  see  the  evidence  of  her 
grief. 

"  I  did  not  think  it  of  you,  Valery.  Poor  Bruno ! 
He  once  told  me  that  he  could  not  die  unless  I  closed 
his  eyes.  I  was  hard  upon  him,  I  fear ;  but  I  did  not 
love  him  as  I  should  have  done.  It  was  I  who  made 
him  cross  sometimes,  and  captious.  An  unloving 
wife! — but," — she  turned  toward  Valery,  her  eyes 
raining  floods  of  tears, — "I  did  not  love  him.  I 
never  should  have  allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded 
to   marry   him,   never.      I   was   not   old  enough   to 

judge— I " 

"  The  trail  of  Mamasha !  "  said  Valery.  "  Mamasha 
has  spoiled  several  dozens  of  horns,  and  I  can't  see 
that  she  has  made  any  spoons  to  speak  of,  unless  she 
hooked  Eldon  at  the  last.  I  don't  want  to  spoil  her 
little  game,  so  I  never  let  Eldon  into  the  skeleton 

closet  at  the  Abbey.     If  I  had " 

"Don't  speak  so,"  said  Alixe,  still  sobbing.  "My 
mother  has  been  a  disappointed  woman  all  her  life. 
She  never  succeeded  quite  in  what  she  undertook.     I 

disappointed  her " 

"Faith,  then,"  said  Valery,  "you did  your  best  not 
to,  when  you  married  the  old  duke " 


424  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"  He  was  very  kind  to  me.  He  might  still  have 
been  kind  as  my  husband.  The  poor  duke  did  not 
realize  anything  from  his  marriage  v/ith  me.  He 
died  and  left  me  a  rich  woman.  I  should  be  grateful 
and " 

"  If  Mamasha  had  planned  it,  and  had  had  the  tak- 
ing of  him  off,  it  couldn't  have  been  better  done." 
Alixe  smiled  faintly  through  her  tears.  She  was  ac- 
customed to  Valery. 

"  Tell  me  the  rest.     Where  was  Bruno?  " 

"It  was  a  sudden  attack."  Valery  was  determined 
not  to  tell  her  any  of  the  circumstances.  "  It  was  just 
as  he  was  going  to  take  the  steamer.  He  did  not 
miss  you,  Alixe.     It  was  all  over  in  a  moment." 

"Thank  God  for  that!  And — and — were  you  at 
the — the  funeral,  Valery?  " 

"God  forbid!"  he  ejaculated  fervently.  "I — I — 
mean " 

Alixe  was  staring  at  him  in  surprise.  "  I — I — mean 
I — I — couldn't  get  there.  I — I  had  so  much,  you — 
you — know,  to  do,  and  I — I " 

"Valery,  what  does  all  this  stammering  mean? 
Tell  me  at  once!"  Alixe  was  sitting  upright  now. 
"  If  you,  the  only  person  who  could  attend  to  it,  turned 
your  back  on  Bruno,  who  was  there  to  see  that  the 
poor  fellow  was  buried  as  befitted  his  position? 
Who  was  there  to " 

"Quentin  attended  to  it,"  said  Valery  humbly. 

A  faint  flush  came  to  the  cheek  of  Alixe. 

"  Mr.  Quentin !  And  what  had  he  to  do  with  it, 
when  you,  my  nearest  relative — it  is  strange  what  a 
small  family  we  have,  Valery,  how  few  there  are  to 
take  any  interest.  Had  the  Archbishop  not  been  so 
ill,  had  Halle " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  425 

"  The  Arclibishop  wouldn't  have  touched  him  with 
the  tongs " 

"  Valery  !  Valery !  He  is  dead.  Bruno  is  dead ! 
Do  not  speak  so  of  him." 

"  The  church  has  nothing  to  do  with  suicides,  Alixe, 
as  you  know  well,"  blurted  out  Valery.  He  had  hard- 
ly spoken  before  he  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  for 
his  hastiness. 

"  Suicide !  Suicide !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
Bruno  killed  himself?  " 

"Did — did — I  say  that?"  Valery  perceived  at 
once  the  mischief  that  he  had  done  all  in  a  moment, 
and  the  far-reaching  effect  of  it. 

"  Yes !  yes !  You  said  suicide !  Oh,  Valery,  Val- 
ery !  That  Bruno  should  kill  himself,  and  all  because 
I  could  not  love  him.  All  because  I  could  not  and 
never  have  lived  with  him  as  his  wife  should  do. 
Oh,  dear,  dear  God!  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall 
I  do?  To  have  this  sin  on  my  conscience.  This 
dreadful,  dreadful  sin.  Can  a  whole  life  of  penance 
atone?  " 

"  Now  don't  ask  any  more ;  just  enjoy  yourself  while 
you  may." 

"  Enjoy  myself !     And  my  mother?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  went  to  the  Abbey  ;  I  know  Eldon 
came  over  to  Paris  on  the  third." 

"The  very  day  you  heard  the  news?  " 

"Yes,  Mamasha  came  to  see  me  about  it  in  the 
morning.  She  was  bathed  in  tears.  Eldon  arrived 
at  about  one  o'clock,  and  she  wiped  her  weeping 
eyes,  as  the  Salvation  Army  used  to  sing  to  us  out  at 
the  Rand,  put  on  a  little  more  rouge,  got  her  special 
dispensation  from  the  Pope,  and  her  social  dispensa- 
tions from  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  espe- 


426  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

ciallj  the  latter — but  I  believe  Eldon  had  attended 
to  all  that  beforehand,  and  was  married  by  4  p.m. 
There's  nothing  money  can't  do,  Alixe,  and  that  you'll 
find  out  when  you  have  given  it  all  to  the  church,  and 
haven't  any  more  to  conjure  with." 

"It  cannot  save  a  soul,"  said  Alixe.  "Oh,  poor 
Bruno !     Poor  Bruno ! " 

Alixe  arose  and  staggered  along  the  deck  to  her 
own  cabin.  Valery  followed,  penitent  and  downcast. 
When  she  reached  the  cabin,  which  was  on  the  upper 
deck,  she  went  in  and  closed  the  door  very  decidedly 
in  Yalery's  face.  He  was  haunted  all  night  by  the 
look  in  those  eyes  which  had  gazed  at  him,  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  known  her,  with  reproach 
amounting  almost  to  anger. 

Valery  did  not  see  Alixe  for  several  days.  She  kept 
herself  closely  locked  within  her  cabin.  Gartha  con- 
fided to  Jan  the  cause  of  this  behavior  on  Alixe's  part. 
"Valery  says  that  my  Uncle  Bruno  is  dead.  You 
know  I  alwaj^s  hated  my  Uncle  Bruno — — " 

"  There  is  a  proverb  that  says,  '  Say  nothing  but 
good  of  the  dead,'  "  said  Jan  MacDouald. 

"  Nom  de  Dieu !  Je  le  crois  bien !  Then  we  should 
never  be  able  to  speak  of  my  Uncle  Bruno  again. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  he  killed  himself,  une  blessure 
mortelle,  j^ou  must  know.  I  think  it  was  because  his 
chemicals  esploded  and  nearly  killed  me.  He  Avas 
pobaly  afraid  that  your  uncle,  to  whom  I  am  promis, 
you  know,  would  go  after  him  and  give  him 
what  Harry  Ware  used  to  call  '  peticlar  fits, '  so  he 
killed  himself." 

"  Does  the  Duchesse  know  that  he  killed  himself?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Gartha,  "and  the  most  amusing  thing 
^^  all  is,  that  she  thinks  he  killed  himself  for  love  of 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  427 

her.  Quelle  betise !  John  Quentin  himself  buried  him 
because  he  was  my  uncle.  It  was  kind  of  John  Quen- 
tin. He  knows  howl  hated  my  Uncle  Bruno.  L'his- 
toire  est  extremement  interessante,  depuis  le  com- 
mencement jusqu'a  la  fin." 

"Don't,  Gartha."  Jan  was  shocked  at  this  free- 
spoken  young  woman.  "You  must  not  speak  so. 
Why  don't  you  go  and  see  if  you  can  comfort  your 
aunt  a  little?  " 

Gartha,  in  accordance  with  this  suggestion,  crept 
to  the  cabin  door,  and  tried  the  lock.  It  would  not 
open. 

"Who  is  there?  "  called  Alixe  faintly. 

"  C'est  moi,  chere  tante,"  called  Gartha,  loud  enough 
for  a  young  commis  voyageur  who  was  going  out  to 
Cape  Town  to  hear.  "  Your  own  little  Gartha.  Can 
I  do  something  for  you,  cherie?  Something  to  soften 
this  great  and  overwhelming  esperience?  " 

The  door  was  opened  a  little  way.  Gartha  had  her 
head  over  her  shoulder  to  see  if  her  listener  had  taken 
in  her  last  words  and  their  gentle  purport.  She  had 
the  great  satisfaction  to  find  that  he  was  all  eyes  and 
probably  all  ears.  She  wished  that  Alixe  had  not 
responded  quite  so  quickly  as  the  tail  of  her  eye 
showed  her  that  she  had.  But  her  head  was  turned 
toward  the  attentive  stranger,  and  there  was  time  for 
one  efi'ective  sentence. 

"Do  not  weep,  dear  aunt,"  she  said  in  her  most 
heavenly  tone,  the  corner  of  her  eye  still  taking  in  the 
travelling  salesman.  "My  dear  uncle,  ame  blanclie 
that  he  was,  has  gone  to  that  land  where  we  shall 
meet  him,  too,  some  day.  He  is  looking  down  and 
watching  over  us  now,  and  pobaly  blessing  us;  and 
every  tear  we  sheds  makes  his  kind  heart  beat  the 


428  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

faster,  every  sigh  we  heaves  is  to  him  an  embarrass 
des  richesses.  Spend  your  tears  on  the  little  ones 
that  you  have  lost,  but  not  on  my  sainted  Uncle 
Bruno,  the  Comte  de  St.  Aubin ! "  At  these  final 
words,  the  commis  voyageur  opened  his  eyes  very 
wide ;  at  which  sign  of  interest  Gartha  could  not  re- 
sist adding :  "  Chere  Duchesse  di  Brazzia,  sans  la 
religion  nous  serious  pires  que  les  barbares !  "  and 
disappeared  within  the  door. 

Alixe,  whose  face  had  been  buried  within  the  folds 
of  her  cloak,  and  who  had  heard  nothing  of  Gartha's 
play-acting,  opened  her  arms  to  the  child  and  held  her 
close,  so  close  that  Gartha  feared  that  she  should 
smother.  She  managed  to  keep  her  eye  on  the  win- 
dow, however,  and  was  satisfied  to  see  that  the  young 
man  was  gazing  at  the  closed  door  through  which  she 
had  passed,  open-mouthed. 

From  this  time  forth  Valery  could  see  that  there 
was  a  great  struggle  going  on  in  the  mind  of  Alixe. 
She  sat  often  lost  in  deep  fits  of  abstraction.  She 
did  not  speak  when  spoken  to,  and  seemed  to  be 
planning  a  future  with  which  no  one  could  interfere. 
He  chuckled  quietly  in  silent  communion  with  him- 
self. "She's  a  widow  now,  sure  enough.  A  widow 
firm  and  fast.  She  has  never  been  a  wife.  She  is 
thinking  of  Quentin.  I  can  see  that  she  wants  to 
hasten  home.  There  must  be  something  in  all  this. 
When  I  mention  his  name  she  winces  and  shivers, 
and  looks  appealingly  at  me,  perfectly  oblivious  all 
the  time  of  what  she  is  doing." 


XLvn. 

QuENTiN  accepted  Lady  Eldou's  invitation,  and  went 
down  to  the  Abbey  during  the  last  days  of  November. 
Paris  was  bright  and  sunny,  but  the  country  was  bare 
and  chill.  There  was  no  one  to  meet  him  at  the  little 
station,  and  he  walked  over  the  road  to  the  Abbey  as 
he  had  done  before.  The  scene  was  changed  past  be- 
lief. The  autumn  rains  had  wetted  the  ground,  the 
fields  were  bare  and  brown,  the  trees  were  almost 
stripped  of  foliage,  and  there  were  masses  of  dingy, 
yellow  leaves  in  the  gutters  by  the  roadside.  As  he 
strode  onward  he  could  not  believe  it  the  same  road 
over  which  a  little  more  than  a  year  ago  he  had  passed, 
a  stranger,  and  found  something  awaiting  him  of  which 
he  had  not  dreamed.  He  cast  a  glance  upward  to- 
ward the  hill.  The  great  sentinels  of  the  forest  stood 
as  of  old,  bare  and  sturdy.  They  waved  their  ragged 
branches  in  the  gusts  of  wind  that  swept  through 
them,  and  seemed  to  call  down  the  slope:  "Go  back! 
Go  back !  She  is  not  here !  She  is  not  here ! "  His 
glance  scanned  the  distant  hiUtoj^,  and  he  thought 
that  he  could  single  out  the  verj^  tree  which  he  had 
climbed  to  scan  the  country  the  first  morning  after 
his  arrival  at  the  Abbey,  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  during  this  visit  he  would  go  arid  look  again 
upon  the  white  stone  which  bore  the  name  of  Allaire, 
because  she  was  the  sister  of  Alixe,  and  because  Alixe 
had  placed  it  in  the  glade.     He  wondered  quizzically 


430  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

if  Madame  occupied  her  time  now  in  "  digging  the 
moss  out  of  the  title,"  as  Yalery  had  said.  He  deter- 
mined to  mount  the  path  and  see  for  himself  on  some 
early  day.  Arrived  at  the  gate,  it  was  opened  by  a 
new,  stiff  English  butler,  whom  Quentin  followed 
across  the  terrace.  He  glanced  sidewise  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  chalet;  but  there  was  no  one  sitting  at  the 
long  table,  there  were  no  lights,  no  gay  voices.  A 
slight  flurry  of  snow  had  appeared,  and  was  whirling 
around  his  head.  The  salon  doors  were  closed.  The 
butler  ushered  him  into  a  little  room  upon  the  left, 
and  there  he  waited  in  the  dark  until  the  man  could 
light  a  lamp  and  announce  his  arrival.  There  was 
a  faint  glow  from  the  fireplace,  where  a  log  was 
smouldering,  and  Quentin  stood  with  his  feet  upon 
the  fender  until  the  butler  came  with  a  lamp,  and 
told  him  that  he  would  announce  his  coming  to  Lady 
Eldon.  It  was  not  long  before  there  was  a  gentle 
rustling  of  skirts,  and  my  lady  came  in.  Madame 
was  rather  changed,  grown  a  little  stouter  and  a 
little  redder  in  the  face,  and  a  great  deal  more  effu- 
sive. 

She  came  bustling  toward  him,  and  held  out  her 
hands  across  a  chasm  of  forgetfulness.  "  You  dear !  " 
she  said,  taking  Quentin's  own.  His  thoughts  in- 
stantly reverted  to  the  first  evening  in  the  chalet,  and 
he  laughingly  said : 

"Mamasha,  Mamasha,  how  do  you  do?  How  are 
you  all,  Mamasha?  "  shaking  her  hands  up  and  down 
the  while,  embarrassed  somewhat  now  as  then. 

"You  are  a  godsend,"  said  my  lady,  "a  perfect 
godsend !  Eldon  has  a  crick  in  his  back  and  groans 
about  no  French  house  being  fit  for  a  human  being 
to  live  in.     It  is  a  draughty  place  in  winter " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  431 

"It  isn't  winter  yet,"  said  Quentin. 

"  It  lias  been  abnormally  cold.  We  can  hardly  keep 
warm.  I  was  never  so  cold  at  the  Towers  when  I  stayed 
there.  It  is  true,  as  Eldon  saj^s,  they  don't  know  any- 
thing over  here  about  being  comfortable ;  but,  of  course, 
no  one  ever  expected  to  stay  here  in  winter.  Come, 
sit  down  here.  Sellers,  some  more  wood.  Do  make 
it  warm.  See  that  Mr.  Quentin' s  things  are  i)ut  in 
the  chalet,  and  tell  Pierre  Monrouge  to  keep  his  fire 
going.     Take  plenty  of  wood  over  there. " 

"Pierre  Monrouge  takes  no  orders  from  me,  my 
lady,"  said  Sellers,  bowing  stiffly. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  Nothing  but  quarrelling !  Send 
Pierre  Monrouge  here,  and  I  will  tell  him  myself.  I 
might  have  known  that  French  and  English  servants 
would  never  agree.  Les  domestiques  sont  des  gens 
fatigants.     You  spoke  of " 

"  The  chalet?  "  said  Quentin  in  surprise.  "  I  thought 
that  the  chalet  was " 

"  Well,  so  it  was,"  answered  Lady  Eldon,  "but 
Alixe  had  it  repaired ;  and  though  the  rooms  on  Bru- 
no's side  are  somewhat  changed,  yours  are  just  as 
they  were.     How  strange  it  al^  seems !  " 

Lady  Eldon  mused  with  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  her 
cheek  on  her  hand ;  upon  her  fingers  there  were  some 
very  magnificent  rings,  which  flashed  in  the  lamp- 
light. Lord  Eldon  had  indeed  "jmt  butter  on  her 
paws." 

"  You  see  I  wear  it  always, "  said  she,  sentiment- 
ally, holding  out  the  other  hand  toward  Quentin,  and 
bringing  into  view  a  very  handsome  bracelet,  set  with 
brilliant  stones.  "  For  a  long  time  I  did  not  know 
who  sent  it.  One  of  my  loveliest  presents.  You 
must  have  spent  a  fortune  for  it." 


432  THE  AEOHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"lean  never  repay  you,"  said  Quentin  earnestly, 
"for  what  you  liave  done  for  me." 

Madame,  as  Quentin  must  still  call  her  in  his  mind, 
laid  her  hand  in  his  and  pressed  it  tenderly.  Valery 
had  called  her  a  cat,  a  little  cat.  She  was  greedy ; 
she  might  have  been  arrested  for  forgery;  she  had 
always  repudiated  every  one  who  stood  in  her  way ; 
but  yet  she  was  a  pleasant  little  cat,  a  soft,  purring 
little  cat,  and  she  purred  contentedly  as  she  sat  there 
with  Quentin  in  the  blaze  of  the  renovated  fire. 

"  I  had  a  dreadful  time  to  gee  people  to  come  here," 
she  confided  to  Quentin.  "  The  Baroness  wouldn't 
have  come  a  step  if  she  hadn't  been  so  poor.  That 
wretched  little  man  has  dissipated  almost  everything, 
himself  first  and  foremost.  He  still  sits  in  front  of 
Maxim's — inside,  I  suppose,  now,  if  the  weather  is  as 
cold  as  it  is  here,  and  drinks  his  absinthe  and  gallops 
onward  down  the  hill  to  paresis,  while  the  poor  little 
Baroness  hasn't  a  rag  to  her  back,  or  wouldn't  have, 
if  I  hadn't  given  her  a  bundle  of  clothes  that  Alixe 
left  behind.  It  is  really  funny  to  see  her  in  them. 
She  is  magnificent." 

So  Quentin  thought^  an  hour  later,  when,  having 
dressed  for  dinner,  he  found  himself  in  the  little 
breakfast-room  of  a  year  ago.  The  dining-room  was 
too  large  and  cold.  Lady  Eldon  had  said.  They 
should  all  have  lumbago  as  badly  as  Eldon.  There 
was  a  goodly  company  assembled  at  the  table,  des- 
pite Madame 's  assurance  that  it  had  been  difficult  to 
get  any  one  to  come.  Mademoiselle  was  there,  her 
peculiarities  not  lessened  with  time;  and  Quentin 
was  thankful  to  find  that  he  had  been  placed  on 
Madame 's  right,  three  seats  from  the  poor  little 
Weasel.     M.  le  Maurier,  whom  he  had  met  there  be- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  433 

fore,  was  on  Lady  Eldon's  left.  "All,  Napoleon 
Third !  "  some  one  had  exclaimed  when  they  first  saw 
him.  Miss  Spencer  was  at  the  Abbey,  and  welcomed 
Quentin  with  effusion.  The  Baroness,  and  Lady 
Barnes,  and  Miss  Jenkins  were  further  down  the 
table,  as  well  as  some  men  whom  Quentin  had  a 
slight  recollection  of  having  seen  on  his  first  visit; 
but  the  Count  St.  Aubin  and  the  Alsatian  were  gone. 
There  was  no  Gartha,  no  Valery,  and,  what  summed 
up  in  two  words  all  Quentin' s  misery,  no  Alixe. 
How  changed  everything  was !  Lord  Eldon  did  not 
come  down.  Dinner  was  served  by  the  pompous  but- 
ler and  two  English  footmen,  Charles  standing  at  the 
door  looking  gloomilj-  in,  and  refusing  to  go  to  the 
kitchen  for  a  single  dish.  He  had  been  superseded ; 
now  let  them  see  how  they  could  get  on  by  them- 
selves. 

There  was  a  long  wait  between  the  soup  and  the  fish, 
and  finally  the  message  was  brought  in  that  there  was 
no  fish.  My  lady,  mistress  of  herself  though  china 
fall,  carried  on  her  conversation  with  M.  le  Mau- 
rier  and  Quentin  by  turns,  laying  her  hands  on  one 
of  theirs  alternately,  with  the  exclamation,  "You 
dear !  "  But  there  were  two  very  bright  spots  on  her 
cheeks  which  art  had  not  placed  there,  and  Quentin 
could  see  in  imagination  a  cori)S  of  domestics  leaving 
by  train  on  the  following  morning.  He  heard  with 
much  amusement  that  Pierre  Monrouge,  who  carried 
the  orders  to  market,  had  understood  Sellers  to  say 
that  my  lady  wished  some  "  poison  " ;  that  his  sister, 
Marie  Monrouge,  now  travelling  with  the  Duchess, 
had  left  her  little  dictionnaire  behind;  that  he  had 
consulted  it,  and  had  found  that  "  poison  "  stood  for 
"toxique,"  poison  mortel.  He  thought  that  my  lady 
28 


434  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

had  wished  for  something  'to  poison  the  rats,  which 
had  come  into  the  house  during  the  cold  weather. 
He  had  a  large  parcel  of  it  in  the  cuisine,  plenty  for 
all  the  rats  in  the  house,  and  Pierre  Monrouge  looked 
meaningly  at  the  English  butler. 

"He  knew  perfectly  well  what  I  wanted,"  Madame 
confided  to  Quentin.  "  They  make  me  all  the  trouble 
they  can,  just  because  we  brought  those  men  from  the 
Towers.  The  men  themselves  positively  hate  it. 
They  consider  it  a  broken-down  old  place  compared 
with  Eldon  Towers,  and  so  it  is ;  they  cannot  speak 
the  language,  they  are  not  accustomed  to  petty 
French  ways,  and  there  is  a  constant  disturbance. 
They  wilfull}^  misunderstand  me  and  each  other.  The 
wonder  is  that  we  get  anything  to  eat  at  all." 

Quentin  laughed  at  Madame 's  distress  as  she 
poured  out  her  tale  after  dinner  in  the  salon. 

"And  now  I  must  go  and  talk  with  Monsieur  le 
Maurier.  He  is  waiting  for  me,"  she  said.  "He  only 
came  for  the  evening,  and  as  he  came  at  my  request, 
I  must  give  him  a  little  of  my  time." 

"What  can  he  have  to  say?  "  said  Quentin  to  him- 
self. This  question  was  answered,  almost  as  if  he  had 
spoken  aloud,  by  Miss  Spencer,  who  formerly  had 
spent  all  her  time  in  enlightening  Quentin  as  to  the 
mental  attitude  of  every  one  at  the  Abbey. 

"  Le  Maurier  has  come  to  tell  her  all  about  Bruno," 
she  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  You  know  he  had  suspected 
him  for  a  long  time,  and  when  Mamasha  thought  that 
she  was  the  bait,  it  was  Bruno  and  Halle  whom  he 
was  tracking.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that  he  is 
an  agent  of  the  secret  police." 

"No,  I  didn't  know  it,"  said  Quentin.  "I  thought 
he  was  the  editor  of  a  paper. " 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  435 

"I  suppose  a  man  can  be  both  in  France;  at  all 
events,  a  man  is  never  what  he  pretends  to  be  over 
here — or,  for  that  matter,  anywhere  else.  Did  you 
ever  see  things  go  as  they  do  now  that  Mamasha  is 
My  Lady  ?  No  one  minds  her  now  that  Alixe  is  not 
here  to  make  them;  not  one  single  word  she  says. 
The  consequence  is  we  sometimes  go  without  poulet 
for  breakfast,  or  cheese,  or  salad,  as  the  case  may  be, 
or  without  fish,  as  to-night.  Keally,  I  cannot  stand  it. 
I  am  getting  so  run  down  that  I  shall  have  to  go 
home  to  recuperate.  I  intended  to  ask  you  to  go  up 
the  hill  and  see  how  forgetful  Mamasha  is  becoming 
in  her  old  age " 

"I  hadn't  noticed  that  Lady  Eldon  is  becoming 
forgetful,"  said  Quentiu  loyally. 

"  Wait  till  you  see  the  tombstone.  The  title  is  en- 
tirely obscured  by  moss " 

"She  has  another  title  now,"  smiled  Quentin. 
"She  cannot  use  two,  and  after  all.  Miss  Spencer, 
we  cannot  nurse  our  griefs  forever." 

"  That  has  a  double  application.  I  think  you  are 
very  sensible.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Quentiu,  that 
Alixe  has  fully  decided  upon  a  conventual  life?  " 

"No,  I  don't  know,"  said  Quentin  quickly. 

"No,  you  don't  know;  but  it  is  true.  The  Arch- 
bishop says  that  she  has  given  her  word;  and  when 
Alixe  gives  her  word,  it  is  fixed  as  the  laws  of  the 
Medes.  Do  you  ever  hear  from  them?  Don't  look  so 
awfully  down.  There  are  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as 
ever  were  caught,  though  we  can't  get  them  for  dinner !" 

"I  have  had  one  letter  from  Valery,"  said  Quentin, 
answering  Miss  Spencer's  question  and  ignoring  her 
comments.  "  But  my  young  nephew  is  with  them ;  he 
writes  me  semi-occasionally . " 


436  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY 

"  When  lie  wants  money,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,"  said  Quentin.     "I  used  to  do  the  same." 

"  The  boy  the  father  of  the  man,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  Gracious,  how  cold  it  is !  I  feel  as  if  one 
of  Gartha's  revenants  was  passing  behind  my  back. 
I  wonder  what  Mamasha  and  le  Maurier  are  talking 
about  so  long.  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  say  she 
will  probably  tell  me  if  she  wants  me  to  know,  only 
you  are  too  polite." 

"That  might  be  said  to  convey  the  gist  of  my 
thoughts."  Quentin  laughed  and  looked  toward 
Lady  Eldon.  He  saw  that  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
little  man's  arm,  probably  with  a  "You  dear!"  and 
accompanied  him  to  the  door  of  the  salon  with  a  few 
last  low  words.  As  the  great  half  of  the  door  was 
opened,  swift  gusts  of  air  blew  in. 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  groaned  Lady  Barnes,  "  why  can't  that 
common  little  man  go  out  the  other  way  ?  He  can  get 
through  the  dining-room  just  as  well." 

Le  Maurier  had  paid  Lady  Eldon  a  very  effusive 
farewell. 

"  That  is  what  in  the  Land  of  the  Free  you  call  a 
put-up  job,"  said  Miss  Spencer.  "He  isn't  going 
home  at  all.  There  is  no  train  to-night.  I  really 
wonder  what  all  this  pretence  means ! " 

Here  Mademoiselle  struck  a  few  notes  on  tho  grand 
piano,  shivered,  squealed,  withdrew  her  cold,  red,  lit- 
tle claws,  then  struck  the  keys  again,  and  my  lady's 
sweet  middle-aged  voice,  with  a  little  strain  in  it, 
I)ealed  forth  in  the  mad  song  from  "  Lucia. "  Quentin 
was  taken  back  in  a  flash  to  that  evening  a  year  ago, 
in  the  summer,  when  Alixe  had  forbidden  the  song  to 
be  sung  in  her  presence.  He  thought  again,  as  he 
had  a  hundred  times,  of  the  ruin,  of  his  following  her 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  437 

there,  of  what  she  had  said,  of  what  she  had  allowed 
—that  handclasp  which  was  to  last  him  through 
eternity — and  in  one  of  my  lady's  most  shrill  rou- 
lades he  crept  out  quietly  and  closed  the  door. 
The  night  was  cold  and  blustery,  but  Quentin's 
blood  was  young,  and  he  ran  down  the  stone  steps, 
through  the  tunnel,  which  was  now  entwined  only  with 
branches  denuded  of  leaves.  He  could  see  the  sky 
overhead,  the  cold  stars  glinting  between  the  inter- 
stices of  the  leafless  growth,  and  the  winter  clouds 
skurrying  across  the  darkness,  but  he  ran  on  and 
entered  the  ruin.  Here  he  was  enclosed  and  de- 
fended from  the  blasts  which  blew  over  the  garden 
and  round  the  chateau.  He  sought  the  bent  tree. 
The  limb  where  she  had  sat  was  covered  with  a  fine 
little  layer  of  snow.  He  brushed  it  aside,  and 
pressed  his  lips  to  the  place  where  her  hand  had 
rested.  A  sound  caused  him  to  turn.  Quentin  for  a 
moment  was  struck  with  a  horror  that  was  new  to 
him.  He  did  not  believe  in  ghosts,  in  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  term,  and  yet  for  a  moment  he 
thought  that  he  had  penetrated  the  mystery  of  the 
Abbey.  He  turned  to  see  dark  forms,  five  of  them, 
crossing  the  interior  space  of  the  ruin.  From  each 
hand  there  depended  a  light.  The  procession  was  dec- 
orous and  quiet.  Two  of  the  men  carried  a  some- 
thing between  them.  It  seemed  to  be  light  in  weight. 
The  others  walked  two  ahead  and  one  behind.  As 
the  procession  reached  the  centre  space,  the  burden 
was  rested  upon  one  of  the  old  stone  seats,  the  seat 
near  where  Madame  used  to  pour  tea  for  her  guests 
on  midsummer  afternoons.  Quentin  stood  transfixed 
in  the  dark  corner  where  he  had  entrenched  himself, 
and  waited.     A  low  laugh  broke  the  stillness  of  the 


438  THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

lonely  interior.  It  jarred  upon  his  nerves,  it  seemed 
to  be  out  of  place  there.  And  then,  in  the  light  of  the 
lantern,  he  saw  a  face  that  he  knew ;  it  was  the  face 
of  le  Maurier,  who  had  bidden  Lady  Eldon  good-night 
but  a  short  time  before.  The  five  figures  stamped 
their  feet  on  the  ground — they  clajjped  their  hands  to 
their  ears,  but  all  was  done  with  a  due  observance  of 
the  proprieties.  "  Take  him  up  again,  mes  gar9ons," 
said  the  voice  of  le  Maurier ;  "  we  know  at  least,  that  he 
skulks  no  more  about  the  earth,  seeking  whom  he  may 
kill.  When  you  leave  the  Abbey,  turn  to  the  left. 
Go  through  the  flower  garden,  the  Count  St.  Aubin's 
rooms,  my  lady  said.  Extinguish  your  lanterns. 
Once  outside,  we  shall  have  light  enough."  The  men 
filed  out  of  the  archway.  Quent'in  saw  that  one  of 
the  lanterns  had  been  left  upon  the  ground.  No 
sooner  had  the  mysterious  party  disappeared  than  he 
went  swiftly  toward  the  lantern,  took  it  up  from  the 
ground,  blew  out  the  light,  and  retreated  to  his 
former  vantage  point.  He  had  barely  regained  his 
place  when  he  heard  swift  footsteps.  Some  one  en- 
tered the  ruin.  A  match  was  scratched.  The  man 
was  evidently  looking  for  the  lantern  carelessly  left 
behind.  His  search  being  unsuccessful,  he  turned 
back  again. 

When  the  sound  of  footsteps  had  died  away  along 
the  garden  path,  Quentin  passed  toward  the  outer 
opening  through  which  le  Maurier  and  his  men  had 
come,  and  when  once  well  outside  the  wall,  he  lighted 
his  lantern.  Here  he  was  screened  from  any  view  of 
the  chalet  or  the  chateau  itself.  Some  unexplained 
suspicion  led  him  at  once  to  the  passage  which 
he  remembered,  the  passage  into  which  Gartha  had 
Taenetraiftd  one  day.     Here  at  its  mouth  he  found  a 


THE  APiCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  439 

disturbed  state  of  affairs.  Most  of  the  entrance  wall 
Lad  been  knocked  away,  and  now  that  the  grass  and 
summer  growth  had  died  down,  he  saw  that  the  tun- 
nel was  marked  on  the  surface  of  the  ground  by  a 
slight  ridge.  He  climbed  the  terrace,  and  walked 
along  this  ridge.  He  stumbled  and  nearly  fell  into  a 
hole,  and  started  back  just  in  time.  This  made  him 
the  more  cautious,  and  it  was  as  well,  for  he  found 
that  these  excavations  were  to  be  seen  every  little 
way.  At  one  about  three  hundred  feet  from  the  open- 
ing he  discovered  a  very  manifest  disturbance  of  the 
earth.  He  lowered  his  lantern,  and  found  an  excava- 
tion deeper  than  the  rest. 

Quentin  set  his  lantern  among  the  stubble,  and 
lowered  himself  into  the  hole.  His  foot  struck  some- 
thing as  it  met  the  ground.  The  hole  was  large 
enough  for  him  to  stoop.  This  he  did,  and  felt  for 
and  raised  in  his  hand  the  thing  against  which  his 
foot  had  struck.  He  brought  it  out  to  the  light  of 
the  lantern,  and  examined  it  there.  It  was  the  san- 
dal of  a  priest,  mildewed,  and  giving  forth  the  odors 
of  the  charnel  house. 


XLYin. 

They  had  been  travelling  for  a  year,  Valery  and 
Alixe,  as  ever  good  friends.  Jan  and  Gartha  were 
constantly  falling  out  with  each  other,  devoted  at  one 
moment,  at  the  next  silence  marking  their  compan- 
ionship. 

These  quarrels  caused  Yalery  many  hilarious  mo- 
ments, and  Alixe  too  smiled  at  times.  Still  she  had 
taken  on  a  very  serious  cast  of  countenance.  At  the 
first  stopping  place  where  such  things  were  procur- 
able, she  had  deepened  the  mourning  which  she  had 
worn  for  Virginia  Danielli  to  the  most  sombre  crepe 
of  widowhood,  and,  with  the  enveloping  veil,  she  went 
about  simply  a  personality  among  them,  her  thought 
and  spirit  far  away.  "She's  only  wearing  that  for 
propriety's  sake,"  said  Yalery  to  Gartha,  to  whom  he 
unburdened  his  mind  more  than  was  proper.  "  She 
will  cheer  up  after  a  while  and  be  like  other  people." 

Once,  at  Cairo,  where  their  travels  had  led  them, 
when  Yalery  was  buying  some  bright  stuifs  and  amu- 
lets for  Gartha,  who,  after  each  conflict  between  her- 
self and  Jan,  loved  to  array  herself  in  them  in  the 
endeavor  to  redazzle  him,  Yalery  brought  to  Alixe  a 
strange  Egyptian  chain  and  threw  it  over  her  head. 

"Wear  this,  Alixe,"  he  said,  "as  a  reminder  of  this 
trip  of  ours." 

Alixe  hastily  removed  the  chain. 

"No,  Yalery,"  she  said,  "do  not  give  me    such 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  441 

things.  Let  me  give  it  to  Gartba.  She  loves  every- 
thing that  is  bright  and  pretty.  As  for  me,  I  shall 
never  wear  anything  but  the  deepest  black  forever 
more." 

"What  nonsense,  Alixe!  Why  yon  are  not  yet 
twenty-two.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  j^ou  have 
finished  with  life?  Bruno  is  gone  past  recall.  Try 
to  look  upon  the  future  differently.  I  had  hoped 
that  you  were  beginning  to.  You  have  a  long  life 
before  you " 

"A  long  life  of  expiation,"  said  Alixe  solemnly. 

Valery  gasped,  "  Expiation !  What  do  you  mean, 
Alixe?  " 

"What  I  say,  Valery.  Expiation!  Expiation! 
Bruno  took  his  life  for  me.  I  must  expiate  that  until 
my  dying  breath.  I  have  written  to  my  dear  Arch- 
bishop. I  have  told  him  that  I  am  strong  and  well, 
and  ready  to  take  up  my  work  in  the  sisterhood;  to 
take  the  vows.  In  short,  to  do  that  which  I  intended 
to  do  when  I  came  to  the  Abbey  to  nurse  Gartha." 

There  was  a  howl  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  room. 
Gartha  had  slipped  in  unobserved. 

"  You  shall  not !  You  shall  not !  Mon  Dieu !  you 
shall  not,"  raged  and  screamed  Gartha.  "I  know  all 
about  why  my  Uncle  Bruno  killed  himself.  Juge  pour 
vous-meme.  I  know  the  whole  thing.  You  shall  not 
leave  me  and  go  into  a  convent,  not  for  forty  dead 
Uncle  Brunos.     He " 

"  Gartha !  Stop !  "  shouted  Valery  in  a  voice  of 
thunder,  but  Gartha,  though  she  had  never  heard  this 
tone  from  her  father  before,  was  not  to  be  hindered. 
Her  words  poured  forth  like  a  cloud-burst  upon  the 
mountains. 

"  He  was  ame  damnee.     I  saw  it  in  Mamasha's  letter 


442  THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

to  Valery.  He  did  not  kill  himself  neither  for  you, 
neither  for  me.  Ni  I'un  ni  I'autre.  I  was  con-con- 
ceited to  think  he  did.  It  was  for  neither  you, 
neither  me.     It  was " 

"Gartha!     Stop!" 

"  It  was  because  he  had  blowed  up  the  steamer  with 
Virginia  Danielli  on  board,  and  he  knew  it  would  all 
come  out,  and  he  was  afraid  to  face " 

"There!  See  what  you  have  done!"  said  Valery. 
"You  have  killed  her!" 

He  stooped  over  the  unconscious  form  of  Alixe, 
which  had  fallen  upon  the  floor.  "Call  somebody 
quickly,  if  you  can  stop  that  confounded  tongue  of 
yours  long  enough  to  change  its  tune.  Alixe !  Alixe ! 
Do  you  hear  me?     Gartha,  call  some  one." 

They  travelled  here  and  there  for  eight  months 
more,  Alixe  the  shadow  of  her  former  self,  and  then 
when  nearly  two  years  had  passed  since  the  death  of 
St.  Aubin,  they  turned  their  steps  toward  home. 

Jan  MacDonald  had  been  the  weary  recipient  of 
long  and  constant  epistles  from  his  uncle;  Gartha,  of 
an  occasional  one.  Jan,  forgetful  and  unmindful  of 
the  uncle  who  was  giving  him  an  experience  which  is 
a  rare  one  for  a  lad  of  his  years,  wrote  but  seldom. 

"  Another  of  Uncle  Jack's  blowing  ups,"  said  Jan  to 
Gartha  one  day.  "  He  never  worried  over  me  so  when 
I  was  in  Scotland.  I  can't  see  why  he  wants  to  know  so 
much  about  me  now.     Just  listen  to  this,  will  you?  " 

"Dear  Jan: 

"  You  never  tell  me  anything  about  the  kind  friends 
with  whom  you  are  travelling.  You  say,  '  I  went  to 
see  the  great  piremid, '  '  I  saw  the  Spynx  '  (mark  the 
spelling),  '  I  rode  a  Donkey  at  cairo  '  (please  remark 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  443 

tlie  capitals) ,  '  I  went  up  to  the  second  cataract  in  Mr. 
Valery's  dahabeya,'  but  you  never  say  with  whom 
you  went  or  how  they  are.  I  cannot  understand  how 
a  young  lad  like  you  can  be  so  conceited  as  to  think 
that  he  is  the  only  person  in  the  world,  and  his  move- 
ments the  only  ones  to  be  chronicled.  I  am  ashamed 
of  you  for  the  first  time.  Now  sit  down,  and  see  if 
you  can  talk  of  any  one  but  yourself,  and  tell  me  all 
that  you  do;  who  goes  with  you;  the  health  of  every 
one  in  the  party,  etc.,  and  oblige  your  affectionate 

"Uncle  Jack." 

"  Didn't  he  give  me  particular  rats?  "  said  Jan. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  understand  the  raison 
d'etre  of  that  letter,"  said  Gartha,  nose  in  air;  "he 
wishes  to  hear  about  me,  and  you  tell  him  only  about 
yourself." 

"  Do  you  think  it's  that?  "    Jan's  face  clouded  over. 

"  You'd  better  sit  right  down  and  tell  him  all  he 
wants  to  know,  or  he  may  cease  j^our  allowance,"  re- 
turned Gartha.  "  Voila !  I  will  give  j^ou  some  of  my 
stamped  paper  that  came  out  from  Paris.  Now  sit 
down  and  begin." 

The  result  was  as  follows : 

"  Dere  Uncle  i  am  not  very  good  at  writin  letters, 
and  you  neednt  give  me  so  much  rats  every  time  be- 
cause i  havnt  mentioned  the  person  you  are  intrested 
in  gartha  is  puffecly  well  gartha  went  to  the  piremids 
with  me  we  both  rodo  donkeys  and  Mr.  valery  said 
that  gartha  was  the  bulliest  rider  of  the  lot  but  i 
think  that  was  all  guff  he  gives  us  lots  of  larries 
gatlia  believes  em  i  dont  gartha  went  to  the  Nile  in 
the  darby,  and  when  she  got  to  the  first  catrac  she 
cried  and  said  she  should  never  see  John  Quentin 
again  and  her  farther  said  dont  be  a  fool  and  when 
one  of  the  arabins  wanted  to  pull  her  upon  the  piry- 


444  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

mids  she  cried  because  slie  said  he  nerely  pulled  her 
arms  out  of  her  sokits  and  when  he  asked  for  a  thing 
they  call  backshish  out  here  and  said  she  should 
never  come  down  lessn  she  give  it  to  him,  her  farther 
called  him  a  durty  brute  and  kicked  him  haf  way 
down  the  pirymids  and  she  goes  about  like  a  eastern 
queen  all  bangles  and  sequins  and  amlets  and  she 
puts  a  thing  over  her  head  an  looks  through  peep 
holes  an  she  says  shes  goin  to  live  in  a  hareem  so  you 
better  come  quick  if  you  want  to  keep  her  from  being 
bow  stringed  thats  what  they  do  to  em  wen  they  get 
tired  of  em  but  i  dont  see  how  any  one  could  get  tired 
of  gartha  she  is  such  a  funny  little  minks,  and  she 
says  she  wants  to  get  home  and  so  i  think  we  will  be 
comin  soon  now  as  this  hole  party  seemes  to  be  doin 
just  what  gartha  wants  em  to  for  she  runs  the  shebang 
and  no  mistake  so  i  expec  well  be  in  marsales  gai-tha 
calls  it  marsay  i  dont  see  why  in  lessn  a  fortnit  an  to 
paris  throo  by  daylite  and  with  love  from  gartha  so 
no  more  from  your  obedient  nephew 

"John  Quentin  MacDonald. 

"I've  told  you  all  you  want  to  know  please  dont 
stop  my  allowns  I  want  to  buy  a  bracelet  for  gartha. " 

"That'll  fetch  him,"  said  Master  John  MacDonald 
to  himself. 

Extract  from  a  letter  written  by  Lady  Eldon  to 
Hilary  Valery,  Esq. : 

"And  now  for  a  piece  of  news,  bona  fide  news. 
Our  American  friend  is  going  to  marry.  I  really 
cannot  understand  it.  He  seemed  to  care  for — well, 
for  different  people,  in  the  days  gone  by,  but  not  for 
Ada  Spencer.  Now  he  is  going  to  marry  her,  at 
Ada's  sister's  house  in  Hampshire.  They  have  a  lit- 
tle cottage  there  at  Milton-ou-Sea.  There  is  nothing 
but  a  sort  of  downs  and  the  Channel  to  look  at.  To 
be  sure,  there  is  golf,  but  I  don't  think  that  will  fill 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  445 

his  cup,  if  Ada  cannot.  You  know  how  they  used  to 
quarrel  ['I  don't  remember  that  Ada  ever  quarrelled 
with  Quentin,'  mused  Valery;  'I  thought  she  was 
rather  fond  of  him.']  And  how  she  abused  him  be- 
hind his  back.  But  now  she  has  taken  him,  and  not 
too  crooked  a  stick  either.  I  should  say  rather  that 
it  was  he  who  has  been  through  the  wood,  and  taken 
up  with  a  crooked  stick  at  last.  She  is  older  than 
he,  that  I  know  for  certain  ['Yes,  I  think  she  is,' 
mused  Valery],  and  she  is  taller  than  he." 

"  There's  where  you're  out,  Mamasha,"  said  Val- 
ery, "she  is  not  taller  than  Quentin.  Oh!  hola, 
Alixe!  I've  got  a  letter  from  Mamasha.  She  gives 
me  a  queer  piece  of  news." 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Alixe  faintly. 

"  Why,  Quentin  is  going  to  be  married.  I  wonder 
he  has  stayed  single  so  long.  I  can't  understand  his 
choice  exactly.  You  don't  say  anything,  Alixe? 
What's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"Why  should  I  say  anything?  I  am  sure  I  hope 
they  will  both  be  happy.     Who  is  the  lady?  " 

"You'd  never  guess,"  said  Valery;  "the  Weasel 
would  be  more  likely.  Ada  Spencer,  of  all  things! 
You  know  how  he  used  to  run  from  her,  and  now — 
well !  words  fail.  Do  you  want  to  go  home  for  the 
wedding,  Alixe?  " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  said  Alixe  decidedly,  "  I  prefer  to  re- 
main abroad.  Gartha  wishes  to  go  to  India,  and  I 
do  not  think  a  year  more  of  it  will  harm  her." 

On  that  day  Alixe  wrote  a  second  long  letter  to  the 
Archbishop.  The  final  words  of  the  letter  were :  "  I 
have  firmly  decided  to  enter  the  conventual  life.  This 
is  my  irrevocable  determination.  Although  I  shall 
remain  here  for  a  year  longer,  I  shall,  in  that  time, 


446  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

strengtlien  my  healtli  and  my  convictions,  and  at  the 
end  of  tlie  year,  you  may  expect  me  in  Paris,  to  enter 
where  you  may  counsel  me  to  go.  I  am  a  poor, 
broken  reed;  but  what  is  left  of  my  life,  and  I  am 
young,  dear  Archbishop,  shall  be  devoted  to  a  holy 
life  and  good  works,  if  one  so  unworthy  may  be  per- 
mitted to  add  that  much  to  the  glory  of  the  Church." 
A  little  later  Hilary  Valery,  Esq.,  received  a  char- 
acteristic letter  from  Lady  Eldon.     It  ran : 

"My  Dearest  Valery: 

"  I  cannot  see  what  you  are  all  about  that  you  do 
not  write  a  line  to  me.  I  should  think  Gartha  might 
write  to  her  poor  little  Mamasha  occasionally. 

"  We  have  had  a  charming  stay  at  the  Abbey,  but 
are  going  back  to  England  next  week.  You  must 
come  to  Eldon  Towers  when  you  return.  Mr.  Quen- 
tin  and  Ada  Spencer  have  both  been  staying  here. 
You  will  wish  to  come  home,  of  course,  for  the  mar- 
riage. I  hear  that  it  is  to  take  place  at  Ada  Spencer's 
sister's  in  June.  Of  course,  entre  nous,  Alixe  will  not 
want  the  necklace,  as  I  hear  from  the  Archbishop  that 
she  has  decided  to  enter  the  convent  after  all.  Please, 
dear  Valery,  do  not  mention  it  to  any  one.  There  is 
no  reason  why  all  that  money  should  go  to  the  con- 
vent— heaven  knows  that  if  she  gives  them  half  her 
fortune  it  will  be  more  than  ample.  She  should  give 
the  other  half  to  me,  since  Bruno  cannot  claim  it.  I 
am  her  mother,  the  one  to  whom  she  is  indebted  for 
all  that  she  has  in  the  world.  ['  Faith,  I  should 
think  so!'  ejaculated  Valery.]  Had  it  not  been  for 
me,  she  would  to-day  possess  no  fortune  and  no  title. 
['Nor  two  husbands,'  interpolated  Valery,  'one  a 
dotard  and  a  roue,  and  the  other  a  malefactor. 
Clever  Mamasha!  Little  cat!']  Please  see  to  this, 
Valery,  for  generous  as  Eldon  is,  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  have  a  little  bank  account  of  one's  own. 
"Always  your  devoted 

"Annie  Eldon." 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  447 

When  Alixo  read  tliis  letter,  she  showed  no  sign  of 
agitation.  On  that  day  there  went  away  by  express 
a  tiny  parcel  addressed  to  Quentin.  He  received  it  a 
few  days  afterward  in  Paris.  On  the  paper  which 
enclosed  the  little  box  was  written  in  a  clear  hand 
which  Quentin  did  not  know : 

"For  your  wife." 

"  For  your  wife  " — Quentin  repeated  the  words  over 
and  over  again,  but  it  was  not  until  he  opened  the 
box,  and  saw  his  own  ring  lying  within  its  envelop- 
ing cotton,  that  he  knew  from  whom  the  parcel  had 
come. 


XLIX. 

QuENTiN  awoke  one  morning  to  the  feeling  tliat  life 
was  hopeless  and  dull  in  the  extreme,  and  that  the 
best  thing  that  he  could  do  with  himself  was  to  pack 
his  trunk  and  start  for  America.  He  had,  in  fact, 
laid  his  finger  on  the  electric  button,  when  Jan's 
round  face  came  staring  at  him  from  the  blank  wall 
of  his  hotel  bedroom.  He  must  wait  for  the  lad,  of 
that  there  was  no  doubt.  But  where  should  he  wait? 
Should  he  remain  in  Paris  until  he  heard  from  Yal- 
ery  ?  And  when  he  did  hear,  should  he  go  and  fetch 
the  child,  or  should  he  allow  Valery  either  to  send 
or  bring  him  to  Paris?  The  very  thought  of  going  to 
the  Abbey  made  his  heart  thump  like  a  sledge-ham- 
mer. A  steamer  sailed  on  the  following  day,  the 
steamer  upon  which  he  preferred  of  all  others  to  take 
passage.  If  he  only  knew  where  Valery  was,  he  could 
telegraph  him.  How  strange  of  Yalery  not  to  keep 
him  informed  of  his  movements,  and  how  outrageous 
of  Jan.  Jan  had  been  most  neglectful.  His  allow- 
ance had  been  almost  doubled,  with  the  hope  that 
his  gratitude  would  suggest  prompt  answers  to  his 
uncle's  letters,  with  the  very  slight  hope  added  that 
he  would  throw  in  something  regarding  the  welfare  of 
the  party.  As  Quentin  dressed  he  worked  himself 
into  a  fever  of  indignation  with  Valery  and  Jan,  the 
latter  in  particular. 

He  had  rung  for  a  telegraph  blank,  which  he  meant 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  449 

to  fill  out  and  despatch  to  Madame  at  Eldon  Towers, 
when  a  servant  brought  him  a  message.  He  tore  it 
open,  hoping,  fearing;  his  feelings  mixed;  his  fingers 
trembling.  It  was  from  Hilary  Valerj,  Esq.,  and 
ran  thus:  "We  arrived  at  the  Abbey  last  night. 
Come  down  and  dine." 

Quentin  never  lost  his  belief  in  telepathy  after  this 
signal  instance.  He  followed  Valery's  instructions 
to  the  letter,  and  late  afternoon  found  him  starting 
for  Moncousis.  When  his  bag  was  packed,  he  ran 
hurriedly  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street, 
where  the  first  person  whom  he  saw,  and  against 
whom,  in  his  nervous  state,  he  ran,  was  the  Arch- 
bishop. The  two  men  had  seen  more  or  less  of  each 
other  during  the  year  that  was  past.  As  the  Arch- 
bishop's eye  fell  upon  Quentin's  hurrying,  nervous 
figure,  his  last  letter  from  Alixe  came  at  once  to  his 
mind.  His  Grace  was  feeling  extremely  cheerful  as 
well  as  secure,  for  had  not  he,  as  the  representative 
of  the  Church,  outwitted  Quentin,  who  stood  for  the 
world  and  the  devil,  each  warring  for  the  soul  of 
Alixe? 

To  be  sure,  the  letter  from  Alixe  had  been  received 
a  long  time  ago ;  but  in  it  she  exjjressed  it  as  her  un- 
alterable determination  that  she  should  take  up  the 
conventual  life  upon  her  return  to  France.  Although 
the  Archbishop  and  Quentin  had  met  occasionally.  His 
Grace  had  never  broached  the  subject  which  was  of 
such  vital  interest  to  both.  During  one  of  the  few 
visits  which  Quentin  had  paid  him,  the  Archbishop 
had  exclaimed:  "Ah,  Mr.  Quentin,  what  a  Catholic 
you  would  make !  Why  not  come  to  us?  Your  char- 
acter is  so  earnest,  so  firm,  so  absolutely  single  of 
purpose,  so  devoted." 
29 


450  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

Quentin  knew  well  what  had  called  forth  this  un- 
usual burst  of  expression  from  the  prelate.  He  knew 
that  His  Grace  recognized  the  fact  that,  although  they 
were  each  silent  with  regard  to  Alixe,  each  could 
read  the  mind  of  the  other  as  well  as  if  their  thoughts 
were  printed  in  the  blackest  type  and  covered  only  by 
a  clear  pane  of  crystal,  and  that  each  mind  was,  for 
the  time,  and  perhaps  because  of  the  special  compan- 
ionship, filled  with  one  and  the  same  person.  On 
this  day  the  Archbishop  could  but  note  the  expectant 
look  in  Quentin's  eyes. 

"You  seem  to  be  going  somewhere,  Mr.  Quentin," 
said  His  Grace,  with  his  ever-genial  smile.  "  To  El- 
don  Towers,  perhaps.  Give  my  warmest  regards  to 
them  all.  Is  Miss  Spencer  there?  I  hear  that  she  is 
going  to  marry  that  curious  little  person,  Mr.  Ware." 

"I  am  going  to  the  Abbey,"  said  Quentin  bluntly. 
"They  are  at  home,  you  know." 

"  At  home !  They  are  at  home  ?  But  that  is  strange. 
I  have  heard  nothing.     When  did  they  arrive?  " 

"  Yesterday.  I  have  had  a  wire  from  Valery  this 
morning." 

"At  the  Abbey?  And  she  did  not— I  shall  go  with 
you,"  said  the  Archbishop,  breaking  in  upon  his  first 
sentence. 

"  For  what?  "  asked  Quentin  abruptly. 

"  And  why  should  I  not  ask  that  same  question  of 
you,  Mr.  Quentin?  I  have  known  them  all,  down 
there,  for  many  years,  long  before  she  was  married 
to  the  Duca  di  Brazzia ;  but,  of  course,  she  did  not 
live  at  the  Abbey  then.     That  goes  without  saying." 

The  Archbishop's  sentence  sounded  almost  comic  to 
Quentin.  He  had  said  simply  "she,"  but  there  was 
no  need  for  either  of  them  to  particularize  further. 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY  451 

"Why  sliould  I  not  go?"  added  the  Archbisliop 
after  a  moment's  silence. 

"I  asked  why  j^ou  were  going,"  repeated  Quentin. 

"And  I  answer  that  they  are  old  friends  of  mine. 
Why  should  I  not  go?  Old  and  dear  friends.  Is 
Lady  Eldon  there?  " 

"I  know  nothing — I  have  not  seen  her  for  some 
time.  I  have  heard  but  once  or  twice  since  I  stayed 
at  Eldon  Towers  last  autumn." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  since,  Mr.  Quen- 
tin?" 

Had  Quentin  answered  truly,  he  would  have  said, 
"  Eating  my  heart  out, "  but  as  one  seldom  gives  an 
honest  answer  to  any  question,  even  the  most  trivial, 
he  replied:  "Oh!  I  have  been  travelling  here  and 
there,  to  Switzerland,  to  Aix,  passing  the  time  as 
best  I  could,  until  my  nephew  returns." 

"And  where  is  your  nephew,  if  I  may  ask?  " 

"  He  has  been  with — with — them,  with  Valery  and 
— and  his  party.  He  is  with  them  at  the  Abbey.  I 
am  going  down  to  get  the  lad." 

Quentin  edged  along  past  the  Archbishop  as  if  eager 
to  get  awav. 

"And  then?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Take  him  home  to  America,  per- 
haps. But  I  must  be  off,  Your  Grace,  or  I  shall  lose 
my  train." 

"Your  train?     Going  now  to  your  train?  " 

"And  why  not?  "  returned  Quentin,  quoting  with  a 
smile  the  Archbishop's  words  of  a  moment  ago. 

His  Grace  looked  at  Quentin  earnestl}'. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Quentin," he  said,  "what  a  Catholic  you 
would  have  made.  It  is  not  too  late.  Come  to  me 
when  you  return.     Let  me  have  a  talk  with  you— she, 


452  THE  ABCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

you  know — that  idea  is  out  of  the  question.  She  has 
promised  me " 

"I  know  nothing,"  said  Quentin,  with  a  glimmer  of 
hope  in  his  look,  that  caused  the  Archbishop  a  shade 
of  anxiety,  "  but  that  I  am  going  to  the  Abbey,  and  I 
must  not  lose  my  train.  I  will  come  to  you  when  I 
return,  but  I  really  must  be  off." 

"I  shall  follow  you,"  called  the  Archbishop  after 
the  hurrying  figure.  "  I  shall  not  be  long  behind  you ; 
make  up  your  mind  to  that. " 

Quentin  nodded  and  smiled  over  his  shoulder.  He 
could  smile  at  the  Archbishop,  now  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  evading  him.  He  almost  ran  toward  the 
cab-stand.  He  threw  his  bag  into  the  fiacre,  threw 
himself  in  after  it,  and  was  whirled  away  to  the  sta- 
tion. By  dint  of  repeated  promises  of  pourboire,  he 
just  managed  to  pass  through  the  gates  of  the  station 
before  they  were  closed.  He  made  a  very  close  con- 
nection all  the  way,  and  at  the  straggling  little  vil- 
lage of  Moncousis  he,  this  time,  found  a  vehicle  in 
waiting,  and,  springing  in,  was  jolted  along  the  road 
toward  the  Abbey.  Antoine  doubled  back,  under-ran 
the  railway,  and  was  soon  on  the  way  toward  the 
great  enclosure  which  Quentin  had  seen  three  years 
ago  for  the  first  time.  The  train  was  the  same  which 
had  brought  him  to  the  Abbey  on  his  first  visit,  and 
as  then,  the  night  was  falling.  Again  he  gazed  upon 
the  long,  white,  dusty  ribbon  of  the  road  which 
stretched  away  in  perspective ;  again  he  saw  the  fields, 
darkening  wastes  under  a  light,  fading  dimly.  Ah ! 
here  was  the  hill.  Antoine  turned  his  horse  to  the 
left,  and  they  were  soon  ascending  it.  To  the  right, 
again,  they  curved  with  jerk  and  jounce,  and  now 
stood  out  the  great  wall,  flinging  its  barriers  across 


THE  AKCHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  453 

tlie  plain  of  little  country  gardens.  But  barrier 
thougli  it  was,  it  advanced  to  meet  Quentin ;  it  held 
out  a  welcoming  hand  to  him,  he  felt,  he  hoped ;  and, 
as  if  in  sympathy,  the  leaves  upon  the  near  hillside 
murmured  and  whispered,  "She  is  here!  She  is 
here!" 

Quentin,  as  he  gazed  upward  at  the  moss-grown 
gray  squares  of  stone,  expected  almost,  while  deem- 
ing it  improbable,  to  see  a  little  brown  head  peering 
down  at  him  from  over  its  tiled  roof.  And  so  it 
came  about.  It  was  all  so  natural,  when  Gartha's 
voice,  Gartha's  voice  grown  older  and  more  assured, 
called,  "Yalery,  is  that  you?"  that  Quentin  could 
have  thought  that  time  had  flown  backward,  that  it 
was  the  dead  August  of  three  years  past,  and  that  he 
was  now  approaching  the  Abbej^  for  the  first  time. 
But  ah,  no!  In  that  twilit  August  walk  of  three 
years  ago  he  knew  of  no  Alixe.  Since  that  time,  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  known  of  nothing  else. 

Quentin  made  no  sign  to  Gartha.  Through  the  un- 
certain dusk  she  saw  only  the  black  form  within  the 
station  wagon.  He  heard  her  say,  "I  thought  it 
might  be  Valery  or  John  Quentin,"  and  a  boyish 
voice  answered  with  frank  lack  of  flattery :  "  Not  he ! 
Not  Uncle  Jack.  He  likes  Paris  too  well  to  come 
down  here  the  first  thing." 

A  hundred  yards  further  and  Antoine  had  drawn 
up  at  the  gate,  and  had  rung  the  bell.  Charles  an- 
swered, as  of  old,  with  his  ever  polite  "Bon  jour. 
Monsieur,"  and  the  gratuitous  information  that  Mon- 
sieur Valery  had  gone  to  Paris  to  meet  Mr.  Quentin, 
as  he  had  received  no  reply  to  his  message.  Quentin 
remembered  now  that  he  had  not  replied.  He  had 
forgotten  the  proprieties  in    his  anticipation.     He 


454  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

entered  upon  the  broad  terrace.  It  seemed  like  a 
dream  that  he  had  dreamed  before.  He  breathed  the 
perfume  of  flowers.  The  salon  door  was  open. 
There  was  no  one  about. 

Quentin  was  agitated  beyond  measure.  He  did  not 
wait  to  speak  further  with  Charles  or  Antoine,  but 
walked  hurriedly  to  the  head  of  the  old  stone  steps, 
and  looked  across  the  flower  garden  at  the  ragged 
edges  of  the  rain.  The  great  trees  thrust  their  heads 
out  of  the  enclosure  as  of  old ;  their  branches  waved 
in  the  night  wind.  Were  they  beckoning  to  him,  or 
were  they  warning  him  away?  The  odors  of  the 
yellow  roses,  cinnamon  pinks,  and  mignonette  were 
abroad  upon  the  air.  How  inexpressibly  entrancing 
it  all  was !  The  hour,  the  place,  the  gently  fading 
light  lapsing  into  mysterious  shadow,  the  scents  of 
a  summer  dead  and  gone ;  they  seemed  to  clasp  him 
in  an  embrace  from  which  he  could  not  escape,  and 
hold  him  close.  He  found  himself  murmuring, 
"Have  there  been  other  days  than  this?"  and  then 
there  came  a  sudden  pang  at  his  heart.  Suppose  she 
had  not  come  after  all ! 

Quentin  descended  the  stairs  v/ith  hurried  steps 
and  was  at  once  within  the  tunnel  of  greenery,  which 
had  grown  denser  in  the  three  years  during  which  he 
had  not  seen  it  freshly  leaved.  Afar,  he  thought  that 
he  heard  voices.     He  stopped  and  listened. 

Ah !  They  were  only  Gartha's  high  tones,  mingled 
with  the  boyish  ones  of  Jan.  Then  there  came  to 
him  upon  the  night  air  the  sound  of  the  lad's  whistle; 
but  that  was  far  down  along  the  convent  wall,  the 
way  by  which  he  had  come. 

Quentin  approached  the  old  door  of  the  Abbey 
church.     He  was  overcome  with  emotion.     Could  it 


THE   AKCHBISHOP  AND   THE  LADY  455 

be  that  three  whole  years  had  passed  since  he  had  sat 
there  with  her  for  a  few  brief  moments,  and  held  her 
hands  in  his?  Should  he  find  her  within?  He  could 
not  think  of  it  now  without  her.  That  other  visit 
that  he  had  paid  in  the  late  autumn  to  Madame  had 
nothing  to  do  with  her.  Her  time  was  the  time  of  the 
mignonette,  the  cinnamon  pinks,  the  yellow  roses. 

Quentin  passed  through  the  archway.  Was  the 
ruin  empty?  He  stood  for  a  moment  thinking  won- 
derful confused  thoughts,  fearing  to  go  forward,  un- 
willing to  retreat.  Was  that  a  dim  shape  over  there 
where  the  tall  oaks  grew?  As  he  stood  thus  waiting, 
he  heard  again  a  low  voice  calling,  "  Gartha,  Gartha, 
where  are  you?"  and  again  "Gartha,  Gartha,  where 
are  you?  "  and  he  knew  now  that  at  the  first  sound  of 
that  voice  in  that  wonderful  summer  now  past  his 
soul  had  fallen  before  her.  She  was  seated  upon  the 
bent  limb  from  which  he  had  brushed  the  snow  on  his 
last  visit  to  the  ruin.  As  she  saw  that  some  one  ap- 
proached her  out  of  the  dusk,  she  arose  with  a  faint 
exclamation,  her  tall  figure  outlined  against  the  som- 
bre wall.  Quentin  advanced  slowly,  hesitatingly,  as 
one  approaches  a  shrine.  When  she  saw  who  was 
coming  toward  her,  she  uttered  a  little  cry  of  welcome, 
and  took  a  step  forward.  He  hastened  his  steps,  and 
in  a  moment  he  was  at  her  feet  holding  both  her  hands 
within  his  own. 


L. 

The  good  Archbisliop  was  perplexed.  'As  lie  walked 
away  from  Quentin  he  found  himself  wondering  why 
the  young  man  should  have  decided  thus  suddenly  to 
go  down  to  the  Abbey.  He  felt  quite  certain  that 
Quentin  would  not  be  able  to  change  the  mind  of 
Alixe.  She  had  written  him,  now  some  time  ago, 
that  she  was  prepared  for  a  whole  life  of  expiation,  a 
long,  long  life.  She  was  young,  only  twenty-two 
years  old.  If  the  Archbishop  experienced  a  pang 
that  so  much  beauty  and  youth  and  life  should  be 
shut  away  frpm  the  world  forever,  he  quenched  any 
such  weakness  for  the  sake  of  that  Lord  and  Master 
whom  he  served,  and  had  ever  served  whereinsoever 
he  thought  his  duty  lay. 

"I  should  have  gone  with  him,"  he  murmured  to 
himself  as  he  proceeded  toward  his  own  house.  "  It 
is  true  that  I  promised  to  see  the  sister  who  is  dying 
at  Ste.  Marie,  but  this, —this— but— no!  no!  I  cannot 
go  to  night.  I  cannot  break  my  promise.  I  will  take 
the  early  train  to-morrow. 

"Pack  my  bag,"  he  said  to  his  servant  on  entering 
the  door.     "  I  must  be  away  betimes  in  the  morning." 

The  road  from  the  station  to  Moncousis  was  wet, 
and  the  dew  was  hardly  off  the  grass  when  the  Arch- 
bishop arrived  at  the  Abbey  gate.  He  had  passed  a 
wakeful  and  a  serious  night.  He  had  administered  to 
the  dying  nun,  soothed  her  pillow,  given  her  absolu- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY  457 

tion,  and  witli  the  eyes  of  faith  had  almost  seen  her 
glorified  spirit  vanish  through  those  portals  where 
his  soon  must  follow ;  for  the  Archbishop  was  an  old 
man  now,  and  the  blow  which  had  felled  him  to  the 
ground  had  left  its  trace  upon  his  frame  and  nerves. 
Charles  oi)ened  at  His  Grace's  ring.  The  visitor,  with 
but  a  hurried,  kindly  nod,  hastened  across  the  terrace 
like  one  on  some  important  errand  bent.  The  salon 
door,  which  was  alwaj^s  thrown  wide  on  sunny  sum- 
mer days,  stood  open  as  of  old;  but,  as  upon  Quen- 
tin's  arrival,  the  great  room  held  no  occupant.  The 
Archbishop,  scenting  danger,  turned  away,  and,  with 
a  quick  step  for  so  old  a  man,  descended  the  stone 
stairwaj^  and  entered  the  Abbey. 

They  saw  him  as  he  entered,  Quentin  and  Alixe. 
She  ran  to  meet  him,  both  arms  outstretched.  She 
fell  upon  his  neck  and  kissed  him  as  a  daughter 
might  have  done.  She  was  brimming  over  with  new 
life  and  smiles.  She  was  transfigured.  There  was  a 
rose  flush  ui:)on  her  cheek,  which  the  Archbishop  had 
never  seen  before.  She  had  something  of  white  thrown 
around  her  shoulders;  about  her  throat  was  a  tiny 
chain,  and  upon  it  hung  a  ring  which  the  Archbishop 
remembered  to  have  picked  up  from  the  floor  of  his 
library  and  restored  to  her. 

" My  daughter, "  said  His  Grace,  "my  dear,  dear 
daughter! " 

Her  open  expression  of  aiffection  touched  him  deep- 
ly', and  overcame  him  for  the  moment.  Is  it  possible 
that  he  thought  of  something  which  might  have  been — 
a  something  which  his  unselfish  life  had  made  impos- 
sible— a  something  which,  but  for  his  self-abnega- 
tion, he  too  might  have  shared — of  a  filial  affection 
which  might  have  been  his  by  right? 


458  THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  LADY 

"My  daughter,"  lie  said  again,  and  placed  his  two 
withered  hands  upon  her  shoulders.  His  lips  trem- 
bled. He  looked  uncertainly  toward  Quentin,  who 
stood  a  few  paces  away,  and  then  back  at  Alixe.  He 
fixed  her  with  his  eye,  looked  squarely  into  the  shin- 
ing depths  of  hers,  and  said,  "  I  have  come  to  claim 
your  promise  " ;  but  his  voice  faltered  as  he  reached 
the  end  of  his  sentence,  for  he  realized  all  in  a  mo- 
ment that  he  had  lost. 

"  Dear  Archbishop ! "  said  Alixe.  She  leaned 
against  this  lovable  old  man  with  a  confidence  which 
had  no  trace  of  fear  in  it,  tears  gathered  in  the  bright- 
ness of  her  eyes,  and  rolled  down  over  a  face  beam- 
ing with  happy  smiles.  "  Dear  Archbishop  "—she 
looked  toward  Quentin — "  that  letter  was  written  under 
a  misapprehension." 

"Under  a  misapprehension,  my  child?  You  sure- 
ly have  not  forgotten  what  you  wrote  to  me.  You 
said,  '  I  am  coming  home  to  you,  to  the  sweet  peace 
of  the  conventual  life.  I  am  coming  back  to  you,  to 
take  upon  me  the  vows  of  the  sisterhood.  I  am  go- 
ing to  leave  the  world,  that  is  my  irrevocable  deter- 
mination— to  leave  the  world  forever. '  " 

"Ah!  Your  Grace,"  said  Alixe,  her  face  still  shin- 
ing with  tears  and  smiles,  "  dear  old  friend,  I  cannot 
leave  the  world.  It  is  a  lovely  world.  It  is  a  beautiful 
world.  I  do  not  care  to  leave  it."  She  laid  one  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  and  stretched  the  other  toward 
Quentin. 

THE  END 


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